


Hunted

by Namarie



Series: On The Scent [2]
Category: The Blacklist (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, F/M, Season/Series 03, Season/Series 04, Transformation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-30
Updated: 2016-11-16
Packaged: 2018-05-10 09:54:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 69,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5581306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Namarie/pseuds/Namarie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What happens after Ressler brings Liz in? Once the immediate danger is past, the situation remains much more complicated than either of them expect.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to all the readers who showed such lovely and encouraging interest in the first section of this strange AU! Part 2 is beginning now, as promised.
> 
> For new readers: this is a direct sequel that picks up immediately after the events of the first fic in this series, "On The Scent." It will make a lot more sense if you read that first.
> 
> Also, I suppose I should warn for character death in just this first chapter, even though it's a character I despise.
> 
> Warning: minor spoilers from the promos for episode 9.

~~  
Ressler's confidence in his plan to keep Liz safe started to crumble the moment they got back to the Post Office. First of all, every time he tried to call Reven Wright, no one answered. Then, just as he was leading Liz in (shackled, surrounded by guards), Aram ran over to him. He had trouble not staring at Liz – who was doing her best to keep a poker face – in dismay as he told Ressler that Cooper had managed to call. He, Charlene, Tom, and Karakurt were holed up at a cabin out in the middle of nowhere, and Cooper said they had reason to believe the Cabal would find them soon.

“Did he give you an address for the cabin?” When Aram didn't reply right away, just looking at Liz with something like guilt on his face, Ressler called his name sharply. “Aram! Do you have an address for the place, or not?”

Jumping, Aram turned back to him. “Uh, yeah. Yeah, I've got it at my desk.”

“I'm going to take you to the Box,” Ressler told Liz quietly, while Aram went to retrieve that information. “No one else here knows the new pass code, so you'll be safe no matter what happens, while I go see what your ex-husband and Cooper have been doing since I last saw them.”

A variety of emotions passed over Liz's face. But she didn't say anything, and in fact quickly regained her expressionless mask.

Sighing, Ressler supervised as she was brought into the Box. He entered the code to open its door, trying and failing not to make mental comparisons with previous times this door had been opened. Seeing his partner inside it now was not easy to handle. Still, he stayed where he was until the guards had departed. Then he took out his phone, knowing Liz would be able to see and hear him as he called Samar.

Samar answered after a few rings. “What is it, Ressler?”

“I got her. She's in custody here at the Post Office,” he said. Liz watched his face, still saying nothing.

There was an indrawn breath. “How is she?”

“All right, I guess. Listen, Samar, I don't know what you're doing right now, but I need to go deal with this Karakurt thing. Cooper and his wife and Tom Keen are apparently still at risk from the Cabal, and they need backup.” He ran a hand over his face. “I'd feel better about leaving the Post Office if I knew you were here. I haven't been able to reach Reven Wright, and I want to make sure this place has someone here I trust in case something happens.”

“I'll be back as soon as I can,” she said immediately. “Where are you keeping her in the meantime?”

“The Box.”

Samar sounded approving. “That's the best option, I suppose. Keep the pass code to yourself.”

“Planning on it.” When he hung up, Liz had stepped close to the glass and looked like she wanted to say something. He came closer.

“Samar is coming?” she asked.

Nodding, Ressler said, “I'm not going to leave you here without one of us staying, too. There's too much at stake. I know you think I'm naïve for believing I can get you a fair trial, Liz, but whatever happens, I'm going to keep you safe. I promise.”

She looked down. At first, he thought she wasn't going to reply, but just as he was about to turn away, she raised her eyes and said, “I hope you're right. But no matter what happens, I don't blame you.”

He stared at her. Suddenly it was hard to speak – and a little hard to breathe normally, too. Maybe she didn't hate him now, after all. With a painful breath, he turned to leave her in her cage.

Despite his words to Liz, Ressler didn't feel like it would be wise to wait long for Samar to arrive. The urgency of Cooper's call weighed on him. After three minutes, he went to talk to Aram. “I can't wait around any longer,” he told the other agent. “Who knows what will happen to Cooper if I don't get out there? So let me know if Reven Wright or Laurel Hitchin call. Keen should be all right until I get back – hopefully with more evidence to exonerate her.”

“So you're going to work with Tom for Liz after all?” Aram asked, looking pleased.

“Since he seems to have something actually useful, yes,” Ressler said grudgingly.

“Just you? I mean, don't you think this might need more backup?” He blinked, and added, “Not that I'm trying to cast doubt on your capability at all – it's just, this is so important--”

Acknowledging this with a faint smile, Ressler said, “No, you're right, normally I would bring backup. But I want to keep this as under the radar as possible. We don't know who's listening to our phone calls and intel.”

Aram looked grave and nodded. As Ressler was about to leave, the other agent stopped him by calling his name. “What?”

“Uh, what should I do if – if the Director or some other bad guy shows up before Agent Navabi gets back?”

It was a fair question, and one that Ressler wished they didn't have to consider. “Stall,” he said after a moment. “No one will be able to get to her, at least. And of course call me ASAP.”

Aram wasn't totally reassured by this, but he promised he would do his best.

Ressler did get a call as he was just leaving the parking lot – but it wasn't Aram or Samar. “Donald,” came Red's voice, “please tell me it's you who has Elizabeth, and no one else.”

“Yes, she's secure,” Ressler told Reddington. He wasn't going to offer a lot of details – although it wasn't as if that would slow the man down for too long. “I'm not going to let anything happen to her, while I arrange a fair trial.”

“While I appreciate the sentiment, and I don't doubt your dedication,” Red said, “the Cabal will come for her as soon as they know she's in your custody – which will be soon, I imagine. And the security of the FBI--”

“No one else has the code to get into the Box but me,” Ressler cut in. “And it's not like you were doing such a great job keeping her safe out there. I think I recall you telling me that in so many words.”

Reddington sighed. “Yes, I did tell you that,” he said. “But that's not really what kind of security I was talking about, Donald. I was referring to the extent to which the FBI and the DOJ are compromised by the Cabal.”

Frowning, Ressler did his best to keep his eyes on the road as he asked, “Reddington, do you know something, a name, in particular? Because this is information I could use – that Liz and I could both use.”

“Unfortunately nothing even close to conclusive yet,” Reddington said. “Be assured you'll know as soon as possible, when I know something worth sharing on that front.”

“Fine,” Ressler said. “I'll try to be reachable, but if you can't reach me, contact Aram.”

Ressler was less than a half mile from the location Cooper had given when he pulled over and rolled down his window to get a better look at a road sign that was partially obscured by some bushes. That was when a breeze blew past him, coming from the direction he'd just driven. Ressler inhaled and froze. That scent. He wasn't likely to forget it, ever. Solomon was on the way, along with at least half a dozen other men.

Swearing, Ressler rolled up the window and got back on the road. He wasn't positive how much of a head start he currently had, but any amount of lead was useful.

He drove as fast as he could safely drive on the road that was getting narrower and less well-maintained. It was really too bad, he thought grimly, that he couldn't call ahead and warn them.

Once he finally found Cooper and the others, and told them who was coming, things happened very quickly. Of course there was no back way out of this area, so their best/only option was to try to withstand the coming attack.

“How do you even know this Solomon guy is on his way?” Tom asked him, as they did their best to make the cabin siege-worthy. Charlene was in the innermost room, armed and standing guard over a tied-up, surprisingly meek Karakurt, and Cooper was working on the other side of the house. “You didn't see them, did you?”

Ressler sighed. He hadn't wanted to have this conversation, especially not with Tom. But he supposed it was only fair that the man would wonder. “No, I didn't.”

“Then what?”

He'd better just get it over with. Without looking in his direction, Ressler explained, “I happened to have my window open for a minute while I was on the way here. And I, uh, have a stronger sense of smell than most people.”

Tom didn't reply at first. When Ressler did turn to look in his direction, the operative was staring at him with raised eyebrows. He shook his head. “Wow. Well, I guess that came in handy for all of us.”

“I guess so,” Ressler said. He had a feeling this guy wasn't going to leave it at that, but at least they were too busy trying to stay alive for him to have time to come up with mocking quips at the moment.

As it turned out, however, Ressler didn't have to worry about any mocking from Tom Keen after the confrontation with Solomon and his men. The fighting was fierce and intense, though it didn't last long. The Cabal had the advantage in both numbers and weapons – but this cabin was not too terrible, as far as defensible locations went. That meant their enemies had to get close in order to get to them.

Or at least, that was what they had been hoping. In reality, Solomon must have known at least something about the location in advance, because he had brought a mounted machine gun. This was, obviously, much less easy to take refuge from, no matter where they were in the cabin. Both Cooper and Karakurt suffered grazes (thankfully minor) in the process of trying to dodge the sprays of bullets.

In the end, Tom snuck out of the back door somehow and managed to get close enough to take out the man operating the machine gun. From there, it wasn't too difficult for Ressler and Cooper to neutralize the rest of the threat. Ressler stayed human the whole time – including the immensely satisfying moment when he took down Solomon and cuffed him.

That was when Charlene let out a cry of dismay, from the doorway of the cabin. (Karakurt was still inside.) “Harold! He needs help!” She was pointing toward the now unmanned machine gun – and when Ressler followed her gesture, he saw the fallen form of Tom Keen.

Cooper had also looked where his wife was pointing. He swore and turned to Ressler. “Get the prisoner secured in your vehicle first.”

Ressler nodded and pulled Solomon to his feet. The man himself, meanwhile, chuckled quietly. “Yeah, you'd better let your old boss take care of your main competition, right, Agent Ressler?” he said. “That way, if Tom dies, you don't have to tell Elizabeth that it was on your watch.”

“Shut up,” Ressler said. He dragged Solomon to the SUV and made sure he was secured before hurrying over to where Cooper was crouched down next to Tom.

Tom's eyes were open, but his breaths were coming in rasps. The bullet wound that he had his hands pressed over was alarmingly high up on his left side – not quite at his heart, but very close. He blinked and winced, as Cooper pressed a folded-up cloth to the injury.

“I'll call an ambulance,” Ressler said, reaching for his phone.

Tom made a sound that might have been a laugh. “And how long … do you think … it'll take to get here?” he gasped out, and then shook his head. “It's not … worth the effort.”

“Of course it's worth the effort,” Cooper said sharply.

But Tom didn't seem to be listening. Instead, his gaze found Ressler's. “Make sure … Karakurt doesn't get killed … before he can testify.” Then he swallowed, grimacing, and coughed once. Blood came out of his mouth. “And keep Liz safe,” he added hoarsely.

Ressler nodded again. “I will.” He still had no fondness for the man, but no one could say he wasn't dedicated – and there was no reason not to make this promise, even if it was for Liz and not for Tom.

Smiling faintly, perhaps understanding this, Tom nodded. Then he took in a ragged breath, shut his eyes, and a few seconds later stopped moving.

“Damn it,” said Cooper, sitting back after a futile attempt to find a pulse.

“I'm sure he saved all of our lives,” Ressler said, after a moment. The fact didn't gall him too much to admit – after all, it was pointless to resent a dead man. “We need to get moving, though, in case anyone else comes looking for Karakurt. I'll call this in.”

Cooper acknowledged this, then stood up. “I'll go get Karakurt ready for transport, after I clean up.”

Once the FBI team arrived (composed of men and women that Ressler was as sure as he could be were trustworthy), they started back to the Post Office. Cooper and his wife came in another car, though they were not in charge of Karakurt. Instead, they were coming to be debriefed. As he got into the driver's seat of his vehicle, Ressler checked his phone. He saw he had missed two calls from Aram – which was not good news, most likely. Mindful of Solomon, tied up in the back with two agents guarding him, Ressler called Aram.

“Sorry I missed your calls,” he said as soon as Aram picked up. “What's going on?”

“Thank God you're there!” said Aram in a semi-whisper. “Just when Samar arrived, the Director and a bunch of his people showed up! He is _not_ happy that no one here knows the code for the Box. He says he wants to transfer Liz to a more secure holding facility, in case Mr. Reddington tries to break her out.”

Ressler snorted at that. It wasn't actually an unlikely scenario … but of course the Director's motives were more than suspect. “Any word from Hitchin or Wright?”

“No, nothing from AG Wright,” said Aram, “but Ms. Hitchin is here. She's been in your office with the Director for a while now.”

Wright's absence was becoming conspicuous. Ressler frowned and said, “All right. I'm on my way back, with a couple of prisoners who should have some useful things to say. Don't tell our friend who I have.”

“Of course not,” Aram agreed readily. “And Samar is staying close to the Box – just to watch and make sure the prisoner doesn't try anything.”

“Good.” As he was sure Aram and Samar were well aware, it was much more likely that Liz's enemies would try something with her. “I'll be back in half an hour. Go ahead and tell them I'm on my way if they ask.”

“Will do.”

"I'm curious, Agent Ressler," came Solomon's voice from the back seat. "Will you be leading my interrogation this time, or will it be the lovely Agent Navabi again?"

Ressler resisted the urge to growl. "I guess you'll just have to wait and find out, won't you?"

When their caravan arrived at the Post Office, the first thing Ressler did was to make sure both Karakurt and Solomon were brought in as secretly as possible. There were some holding cells that, he thought, even the Director would not know about. Cooper and his wife were going to be debriefed off-site but nearby. Once all of that was settled, he went inside, to find the place full of frenetic activity. People were rushing around, and although there were no alarms going off, the agents Ressler saw certainly looked alarmed. He saw Aram as the man was running in his direction.

“Aram, what the hell is going on?”

“Liz collapsed!” he said, eyes wide. “It happened just a couple of minutes ago! I was just about to call. Thank God you're here – we need to get her out of the Box.”

“What?!” Ressler outpaced Aram in the dash to the Box. Samar was there, as well as several guards, a Bureau medical team, and both the Director and Hitchin. Liz was lying on her front on the floor of the Box, not moving.

“Agent Ressler,” said Hitchin, with a brief frown, “it's good of you to finally come back, after leaving it so that your prisoner is stuck behind this door that only you can open.”

“Sorry,” Ressler said, not caring if it came across as at all sincere. All of his attention was on Liz. “Is she conscious?”

“She hasn't responded to anyone since she fell,” Samar said. “But she's breathing, as far as we can see.”

“We should transfer her to a more secure--” the Director began, but Ressler cut him off.

“All due respect, _sir_ , but my priority is making sure the prisoner stays alive, first and foremost,” he said. “And even after that's certain, you're not my boss. My boss is Reven Wright, who I haven't been able to contact recently.” He took a breath, looking over at his fallen ex-partner again. “So until or unless I hear otherwise from her, I'm keeping Keen here. Once I open the door, she'll be taken to our infirmary under heavy guard. If she's stable, we can discuss further from there. I'll personally oversee the whole process.”

The other man looked frustrated, but he didn't protest. Hitchin nodded and said, “That sounds reasonable to me, Agent Ressler. Let's not delay any further.”

Ressler, in fact, only waited until Samar and the guards (the same ones who had escorted Liz on her way back in here earlier) were in position, along with the people who had the gurney ready. Then he hurried to the control panel and entered the code: 'Alpha'.

Liz didn't resist or open her eyes as the medical team lifted her onto the stretcher. Ressler watched her, heart in his throat, as she was strapped down securely to the gurney. The medical staff checked her pulse as they rushed her down to the infirmary. 

“How is she?” Ressler asked, as he walked alongside the stretcher.

“Pulse is fast but strong, sir,” one of the men reported. “No other obvious signs of distress.”

Then what the hell had happened, he wanted to ask, but kept it to himself. Obviously that was what they would figure out as soon as they had the chance to give her a real examination.

The whole team aside from the doctors and nurses was stopped at the door to the room that served as their infirmary by a man Ressler recognized as the head doctor. “I'm sorry,” Dr. Martin said, holding up his hands. “I have to insist that everyone but the guards and my colleagues wait outside. The space just isn't big enough for this many spectators.”

With reluctance, Ressler stayed back. Once Liz's gurney was inside with the door shut, he took a breath and faced the Director. “Sir, can I ask what you're doing here?” he said bluntly. “I was under the impression our … cooperation was over.”

“It was,” the man said with a faint smile. “But then I heard you had captured Elizabeth Keen – which I congratulate you for, by the way. So I came to offer the Agency's assistance in interrogation, as well as a more secure site as I mentioned to your Agent Mojtabai.”

Ressler clenched his jaw. “Much as I appreciate the offer--” he started eyes narrowed.

“Gentlemen, we can discuss this once we have an update on Keen's condition,” Hitchin interjected. “And by 'discuss', I mean actual talking with each other rather than in this thinly-disguised territorial display.”

Before any of them could reply, all the lights went out. A second later, the emergency lights came on. Ressler barely restrained himself from swearing out loud as he looked around and reached for his weapon. “This can't be a coincidence.”

“No, I don't think so,” agreed the Director. He sounded both tense and smug. “I did offer you a more secure site, Agent Ressler.”

“This is hardly the time, Peter!” Hitchin said sharply. “Agent Ressler, I suggest you call for more backup, both here and at the entrances and exits to this place. I'll go make some calls to my people to see if there's been any chatter about this, and so should you, Peter.”

Ressler was already pulling out his phone to do what Hitchin had suggested. He checked in with both Aram and Samar. Aram promised he would have the power problem solved ASAP. Samar said she would lead one of the teams securing the exits and entrances. Just as Ressler was hanging up with her, he heard the distinctive sound of a gunshot – followed by two more, and then some shouts of dismay. They were nearby. And now there was an alarm going off.

Ressler gripped his own weapon, every sense on alert. There were no sounds of struggle from behind him, inside the room where Liz was, although there were some raised voices. One of these was Liz's. She was awake. But he couldn't afford to pay much attention to that right now – not when there was at least one gunman loose in the building.

Someone was coming closer. “Who's there?” Don called out. It was one person – no, two, based on the footsteps.

“Hello, Donald,” Reddington greeted, from around the corner. “I'm armed, as is Dembe. Your reinforcements are busy with a conflict elsewhere in the facility, which is also occupying Agents Navabi and Mojtabai. I must ask you not to try anything rash.” The din of the alarm stopped suddenly.

Gritting his teeth, Ressler lowered his gun – slightly – as Red and Dembe came into view. He could feel the wolf ready to emerge at a moment's notice. “I'm not just going to stand back and let you take her,” he warned. A tiny part of him wondered how Reddington had gotten Dembe out of his holding cell so quickly.

In the red glow of the emergency lights, Reddington's smile looked eerie. “Of course not,” the man said. “That would hardly look good on your record, and I still need you working on the inside. And believe it or not, Donald, my primary reason for disrupting your workday was not to rescue Elizabeth. I've already accomplished what I came for.”

That didn't sound promising at all. “And what was that?”

“Laurel Hitchin murdered Reven Wright earlier today, when the AG came to her house,” Red said, no trace of a smile on his face now. “I can only assume Wright had uncovered something suspicious about her old friend Laurel, though unfortunately she didn't share her discoveries with anyone else. Regardless, that was enough evidence to prove that Ms. Hitchin is in fact a part of the Cabal. Or more accurately, that she was.”

Ressler had to take a few seconds to absorb this shock. Hitchin had _killed_ Wright? He swallowed, remembering Liz's words about not knowing who they could trust. So she was right. And yet he been planning to allow Hitchin and Wright to vet the judge who would oversee arranging Liz's travel to and from the courthouse for her hearing. A Cabal member. Then he realized what else Reddington had said. “Those shots – that was you killing Hitchin?”

“Yes.” He nodded once. “Just one of them, though. The other shots were my associates taking out the Director's guards so they could remove him from the premises.”

Staring, Ressler opened his mouth to ask what these 'associates' were going to do to the man, but Reddington interrupted. “Much as I understand your need to know more, now is not the time. I need to speak to Elizabeth.”

Don raised his weapon again, just a bit. “Uh huh. Except you're not just going to speak to her.”

Nodding again and looking not at all surprised at his reaction, Reddington glanced at Dembe. “Well, again, Donald, although you may have difficulty believing me, what happens to Lizzie after I speak to her largely depends on her.”

“What?” That was not, in fact, what he had expected to hear.

At that moment, the sound of multiple additional people approaching interrupted their conversation. “Ah,” said Reddington, when he saw Don raise his head. “That will be _my_ backup arriving, I imagine. I'm sorry, Donald. I've instructed them not to harm you unless you give them reason to do so.”

Ressler once again felt the urge to transform, almost stronger than he could resist; he started to bare his teeth before he even realized. But instead he took a shaky breath and kept his gun pointed at Reddington until the five armed members of his crew came around the corner. Then, with a frustrated sigh, he holstered his gun and raised his hands.

“Very wise,” said Reddington. “Dembe and I won't be long, however this conversation goes.” With that, he, his bodyguard, and one other man entered the infirmary room.

As he was surrounded, and as his hands were pulled behind his back, Ressler didn't bother to try to look anywhere but the little window in the door leading to the room where Liz was. He didn't even look at the faces of the men who were holding him. Instead, he strained his ears, needing to know what the hell Reddington meant when he said the result of this visit would be up to her. But all he could hear at first was the sound of fighting – the guards in there being taken down, no doubt. At least there weren't any gunshots. And in fact, a few seconds later, he heard Red say, in a loud and commanding tone, “All right. I think we've made our point. No one here needs to do anything foolish, do they?”

After that, things got much quieter. Even though he was listening as hard as he could, Ressler couldn't distinguish any further individual words. All he could hear was Red's voice as he spoke to Liz, and Liz replying. Now it sounded like they might be arguing, though if so it wasn't very heated. Then, about twenty seconds later, the door opened again and Red, Dembe, and the other guy exited – without Liz.

“What the hell?” Ressler asked, with a cursory attempt to twist out of his guards' grip. “What did she say?”

Red gave him an unreadable look. Then he sighed and said, “I'm going to remind you of the promise you made to me, that you will do everything possible to make certain Elizabeth gets the benefit of every doubt. I've removed several threats, and the Cabal will be weaker without its Director. You have Karakurt in custody. But make no mistake: she is still in grave danger. You must find a way to see that her guards, drivers, and judge are as trustworthy as possible. Of course I'll help if I can in that regard.”

It finally dawned on him, what must have just happened. “You asked her if she wanted to leave, didn't you? And she said no.” The thought filled him with more warmth and something close to happiness than he had felt in a long while. She trusted him – and she didn't want to keep running.

“Don't let her down,” Red said. Then he met Don's gaze directly. “And don't let me down, either.” Don nodded, and the other man gave a very faint smile before glancing at his people who were surrounding the agent. “Time for us to go. Again, Donald, apologies, but it's best if I don't leave you the option of following us – especially knowing how very _dogged_ you tend to be in your pursuit.”

Ressler ignored the little dig, focusing on where he could see this was going. “Oh, come on, Reddington,” he started to protest. Then the butt of a gun came down on the side of his head, and everything went dark.  
~


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, this chapter contains some very minor spoilers for the next episode, taken and modified from the sneak peek. I'm sure things won't end up turning out like this at all, but I'll warn just to be safe.
> 
> Also, thanks to Mack_the_Spoon for her beta. Any remaining mistakes are mine.

~  
When he woke up, it was to the sound of a male voice that was vaguely familiar. “Agent Ressler, can you hear me?”

Ressler tried to open his eyes and eventually succeeded. Then the light from wherever he was seemed to slam directly into his brain, so he groaned and shut them again.

“Turn off that light over there,” the voice said. The doctor. Dr. Martin. “Agent Ressler, we're guessing you have a concussion, but we'd like to do some checks to be sure. The light is off now.”

He remembered now: Reddington's goons had knocked him out before they all left. Without Liz. His eyes shot open. “Keen. Is she--?” He tried to sit up, only to groan again at the thundering ache this awoke in his head, as well as a wave of dizziness. “Shit.” He lay back down quickly.

“She's fine, Ressler,” said Samar's voice from not too far away. “We put her back in the Box, since there was nothing medically wrong with her.”

“Of course there wasn't,” he mumbled, relieved all the same. Careful not to try sitting up, he kept his eyes open, lying back on the infirmary bed while the doctor checked his pupils and did a few basic memory tests. Which, thankfully, he passed.

“Well, we don't have CT scanning equipment here,” said Dr. Martin, “but it does seem to be a minor concussion, I'd say. I recommend you take a trip to an urgent care clinic or a hospital to be absolutely certain, though, Agent Ressler.”

“I'll see how I feel in a little while,” said Ressler noncommittally. He had learned that his modified genes included a tendency toward quick recovery from injury – and regardless, he had no intention of wasting time at a clinic. A thought occurred to him then. “Is everyone else all right?”

“Our people had only a few minor scrapes and bruises,” said Samar, “but Reddington's people were obviously being pretty restrained. However, the Director and Solomon are missing, and Laurel Hitchin is dead. Shot. Her body's just over there, in fact.” She pointed at another table, with what Ressler now saw was a body under a white sheet.

Ressler stared at it for a few seconds. One problem at a time. “Reddington told me she murdered Reven Wright,” he said eventually.

Samar raised her eyebrows and said, “Well, that explains the traffic camera footage of Wright's car turning down Hitchin's home street, then not leaving, which was left on a USB drive next to Hitchin's body.”

“That's pretty thin, as far as evidence goes,” Ressler muttered. “Is that all that was on the drive?”

“Aram is digging through it now,” she replied. “But there's something more urgent you should know about.”

“What's that?” He tried to gather his wits.

“The White House Counsel's office called, close to an hour ago. Apparently Wright set up some protocols for what should happen when we found Liz, and that includes setting up a closed hearing with a specific judge. She arranged this all some time ago,” Samar informed him. "Does that sound familiar?"

Ressler did recall Wright telling him something like that, not too long after Liz went on the run. It was a good thing his boss had done this, since now that both she and Hitchin were dead, there wasn't anyone Ressler himself knew of for sure that was trustworthy for him to contact. He would still vet this person Wright had chosen as well as possible, of course. After all, his boss's trust in Hitchin had ended up being misplaced. “Yeah. What did the guy say? What's the timeline?”

Samar informed him that the person who had called was Cynthia Pannabaker, and she had wanted to confirm that Reven Wright had arranged for Liz to be transferred to the Federal Courthouse, prior to her closed hearing later that same day. “She said Wright had told her we would handle transportation to the facility. She also said that she would be expecting Liz's arrival in three hours. I went ahead and agreed with all of it, since you were unconscious.”

“Ah. Thanks.” The hour he'd spent in here was going to have to be long enough. He needed to start getting this transfer ready to go. Slowly, Ressler sat up again. The pain was still there, though a little less intense. The dizziness wasn't as bad, either. “I'll take some extra-strength Tylenol, if you have it, Doctor.”

Twenty minutes later, after he saw that having taken the pills with water had not made Ressler nauseated and his pain levels had in fact decreased, Dr. Martin reluctantly let his patient leave. “Please, no strenuous field activity for at least twenty-four hours,” he warned. “Head injuries aren't something to take lightly.”

“Believe me, I know,” Ressler said with a wry half-smile. “And thanks, Doc. I'll do my best to take it easy.” He had an unpleasant idea that taking Liz to the courthouse wasn't going to end up as straightforward as it should be, but he could still hope.

The aftermath of the latest Post Office incursion, as Samar had said, could certainly have been worse. None of the Post Office's personnel had been seriously injured, other than him. Karakurt was still in custody, and the Coopers had been safe, elsewhere. The main worrisome finding was that Solomon was missing. Reddington hadn't said anything about having let his 'associates' take him as well as the Director. That made him think Solomon's disappearance had not been part of Red's plan. So Solomon had to be considered a continued threat, unless proven otherwise. The man was turning out to be like a damn cockroach. At least Aram was still discovering more evidence against Hitchin, both on the USB drive and through digging into her life.

“She hid her ties to the Cabal pretty well, unsurprisingly,” Aram told him, when he stopped by the man's desk in the War Room. “But they're there. I'm finding some suspicious stuff. I'll have a useful update for you in a few minutes, probably.”

“Great,” said Ressler. “Good work, Aram.”

“Thanks,” he said. “And I'm glad both you and Agen-- and Liz are okay, too.”

With a sigh, Don nodded, then looked toward the Box.

“You going to go talk to her?”

“Yeah,” said Don. “She's only going to be here a little while longer. I've got a few more questions she might be able to help with before she goes – like how the hell Reddington was able to shut us down so completely.”

“I'm still working on that as well,” Aram said. “But, uh, yeah, I bet she'd have to have something to contribute about that, too.”

Liz was sitting in the chair inside the Box when he came in, but she stood up at his approach. She stared at him in undisguised worry. “Ressler. Are you all right? They-- they were bringing you into the infirmary while they were getting me ready to go back here.”

“I've got a hell of a headache and a nice bruise, courtesy of Reddington's thugs, but I'm fine,” he said. Then he gave her a sharper look. “I take it there's nothing whatsoever wrong with you? And there never was?”

She looked down, but didn't flush or otherwise seem ashamed. “I had a slight fever, maybe a cold, a few weeks ago,” she said. “That reminded Red that we, he and I, should make a plan for a situation … like this. So we did. I guess it worked pretty well.”

“I see,” Ressler said. He tried not to feel a sting of betrayal at this confession of how she had lied and tricked them all. “But you didn't use the opportunity to get out of here, even though you could have.”

“No, I didn't,” she agreed. She lifted her chin. “I'm not going to run anymore. I want to deal with this.”

Ressler nodded. “I'm glad to hear it, and we're going to make this work. We have Karakurt here – and Red said the Director has been taken out, though he didn't tell me how exactly.”

“Yeah, that's what I heard,” Liz said. “He didn't tell me anything about how you and Cooper and Tom got Karakurt to come in, either.”

Damn it. Tom. He'd almost forgotten, with everything else that had happened. But he had to tell her.

“What?” said Liz, seeing his expression change. “What is it, Ressler?”

“The Cabal was tracking Karakurt somehow,” he said. “Solomon and his men almost got to Cooper and the others before I did. They had us pinned down in a cabin of some friend of Cooper's, out in the middle of nowhere. We probably wouldn't have survived, but Tom snuck outside somehow and took out their machine gunner. But I'm sorry, Liz. He, uh, didn't make it.”

Liz's eyes widened, and she put a hand to her mouth. Then she took a shuddering breath. “They-- they shot him?”

“In the chest,” he said with a grimace. “There was no way an ambulance would have gotten to him in time.”

“I told him,” she said after a few seconds, shaking her head and sniffing. “I told him he'd end up dead if he insisted on doing this.”

Ressler did his best to keep his tone neutral as he said, “Well, he did it for you.”

She didn't look comforted at all. In fact, she swallowed. “I know. That's why I wish he hadn't.”

She was blaming herself. Of course she was. Unfortunately, now was not the time or place to address that issue. “I'd have more to say about that, but we don't have time,” he said. “In a little less than two hours, we're going to transfer you to a holding cell at the Federal Courthouse, so you can be ready for a closed hearing that Reven Wright and the White House Counsel's office set up before Wright was murdered. After the hearing, we'll see what kind of trial can be arranged.”

Liz's eyes were wide again. “Reven Wright was killed?”

“We haven't located her body yet,” Ressler admitted, “but Reddington told me Hitchin murdered her, and I don't see any reason why he'd lie about that. He knew I was relying on her to make sure all the arrangements for your trial were with trustworthy people.” He sighed. “So I'm going to check into this person Wright set up this hearing with, to make sure she's trustworthy, as well. I said it before, and I meant it, Liz: I'm going to keep you safe. I'll go with you to this holding cell the woman wants us to take you to, with a team of agents I've hand-picked. I'm not going to leave, either, until or unless I'm satisfied with the courthouse security. I know Red has taken out some key Cabal players, but you're still at risk. Solomon is still out there, for one thing.” This two-hour time limit before her transfer might cut into the research Ressler wanted to be able to have done before letting her out of the security of the Box, in fact. But delaying her hearing wouldn't be better, either. That would just mean more time for the Cabal to regroup before sending in a direct attack of their own.

“Yeah,” Liz replied. Then she looked at him with that same expression that had made it hard for him to breathe before as she added, “I meant what I said before, too, Ressler: whatever happens to me now, it's not your fault. I won't blame you.”

Ressler heard these words ringing in his ears as he left her there again. Whether or not she blamed him, if anything happened to her, he would never stop blaming himself. He knew that for sure.

~~  
Liz was scared. It was not something she wanted to admit to herself, but she was. Despite her resolute words and her brave face for Ressler, she knew she had absolutely no control over how this day was going to go, and it terrified her. At best, she would be made to tell her side of the various events leading up to today, multiple times most likely. She would face an uphill battle to convince a judge (and then a jury, if she even got that far) that she was innocent of almost all of the crimes of which she'd been accused. And then there was the small problem of the one crime of which she _was_ guilty. She didn't know how she could possibly avoid murder charges, even if the extent of Tom Connolly's villainy was proven.

But her other option would have been to run from the FBI, yet again. To keep running from her former partner, all her old friends and colleagues, and any chance at being exonerated. It wasn't that she didn't trust that Red was doing everything he could from his end to bring down the Cabal and clear her name; of course he was. But he'd had decades to get used to a life on the run. She didn't know if she could ever get used to that life, and what was more, she knew he didn't want her to have to do so.

So here she was, in the middle of the back seat of another FBI SUV, shackled and wearing body armor again, with Ressler sitting next to her in his suit. He was nervous, too, she was sure, even though he was doing his best not to show it.

He looked over at her just then. Whatever he saw in her face, he seemed to decide it meant she needed reassurance. “We dug into this judge and the woman from White House Counsel, and they're clean of Cabal connections as far as we can determine,” he said. “It's a good situation, Liz – as good as it can be.”

She tried to smile and nodded. “Uh huh.”

Ressler glanced around at the driver, and the other agent in the front passenger's seat. “Are you regretting your decision not to go with Red?” he asked, his voice so low she had to strain to hear it.

“No, I still want to deal with this,” she answered, just as quietly. “I'm just...” She trailed off, then raised her hands the few inches her shackles allowed. “I'm not looking forward to the process.”

His expression was hard to read as he said, “Understandable.” It looked like he was about to say more when the driver swore and their car slowed dramatically. “What's going on?”

“There's some kind of construction or something up ahead,” the driver said. “It's a mess. Dylan says it came up out of nowhere.”

Liz felt the hair on the back of her neck stand on end. “No.” Suddenly there was something much worse than the possibility of a judge who was unwilling to listen.

Ressler had clearly reached the same conclusion. “This isn't by chance. Anderson, tell Dylan in the lead car that we need to get out of here, now. Turn on the sirens. Reynolds, call Navabi and update her.”

As Anderson turned on the siren and worked to maneuver the car out of the traffic jam, Ressler reached into his pocket and pulled out several keys on a keyring. He looked at her then. “Liz, I'm going to unlock the chain attaching your wrists to your ankles – just in case. Please don't make me regret that, on the off-chance nothing bad happens here.”

Liz blinked at him. After everything, he was still willing to trust her enough to put her safety ahead of strict adherence to protocol. She hadn't destroyed all of that trust. “I promise you won't.”

He had barely finished this task when the SUV jerked to the right, suddenly and viciously. “What the--?!” Ressler began, but was cut off when something slammed into the left side – his side – of the vehicle.

“Ressler!”

The SUV skidded onto the sidewalk and came perilously close to slamming into the building on their right. The windshield cracked but didn't shatter. Liz slid as far as her seatbelt allowed, and then jerked to a stop. Ressler had collided into her at one point, but wasn't leaning on her anymore.

There were shouts and cries of alarm from outside. The SUV wasn't moving now. Liz shook her head to try to clear it, wincing as her neck protested the motion. She looked to her left. Ressler was now slumped forward, his seatbelt taut and keeping him half-upright. He wasn't stirring. She called his name again. “Ressler!”

He groaned and coughed once. _Alive._ “Thank God,” Liz muttered. Then she saw the keyring on the floor of the car at her feet. The other agents in the car with her were all either unconscious or too dazed to move. Liz leaned forward as far as she could. She almost had it...

Just as her fingertips grazed the metal, a shot shattered the windshield, killing Anderson instantly. Liz bit back a scream as she stayed bent over. There were other shots being fired – at the lead and following vehicles, she realized. And then another bullet struck the other agent in the front seat of this car. Reynolds, Liz thought his name was. He was dead now.

Frantic, she grabbed the keyring and fumbled through the keys while she heard the sounds of footsteps getting closer, surrounding the SUV. She had unlocked her ankle cuffs and started to sit up by the time someone broke Ressler's window and wrenched open the door.

“Here she is,” called out the dark-masked man, looking over Ressler's back to stare at Liz. “Don't move,” he said to her, aiming the shotgun he was holding at her face.

Liz thought quickly. From his angle, it didn't seem like this gunman would be able to see her hands. She still had the keys. She even knew which one was the right one for her handcuffs. While the guy held his gun on her but didn't move to pull her out of the car, she began to inch the key toward the lock.

Two seconds later, Ressler groaned again, and started to sit up. The gunman immediately grabbed him and shoved him back against the seat. Then the barrel of the shotgun was up against Ressler's temple.

“No!” Liz screamed. She wanted to do something, anything to keep him safe – but she was helpless.

“Shut up!” was the man's response.

Another masked gunman came over at that point. “Wait, hold on a minute! Is that the ex-partner? We're supposed to take him, too.”

“All right.” The first guy lifted his weapon to point it at Liz again. “You shut up and stay where you are while we take your G-man with us.”

“You want us both alive, or you would have shot us already,” she pointed out, keeping her voice steady with effort. She gripped onto Ressler's arm. The keys were still hidden in her palm. When she thought about it, she had no idea why these people (whom she guessed must work for the Cabal) hadn't just killed her already, not to mention Ressler. But she was going to take advantage of it.

“That's true,” said the guy. “But you don't have to be conscious or unhurt. Your choice.”

As several other men approached, Liz swallowed and let go of Ressler. The men were none too gentle while dragging him out of the car, and she frowned at how they gave him the absolute minimum amount of support needed to carry him.

“Your turn,” said the first gunman, gesturing with his weapon. “Out.”

Awkwardly, Liz unbuckled her seatbelt and climbed out of the vehicle. Each of her arms were quickly seized, and she was marched to the same black van where they had taken Ressler.

An armed guard sat in the back with the two of them as the van got going. Ressler, she saw right away, was lying on his stomach with his hands cuffed behind him. There was a spot of blood on his forehead.

“Oh my God,” she said, not bothering to try to hide her worry. “Is he okay?” She hurried over to him, then pretended to stumble so that she fell on her knees at his side. She threw out her hands as if to keep herself from falling forward. Then she made sure her hands landed on his.

“Get over here and sit your ass down,” the guard ordered, pulling at her arm. She resisted until she felt the cuffs on his wrists unlock under her hands, and then she sat down where she had been commanded to sit.

“Where are you taking us?” Liz asked a second later.

“Not too far,” was all the guard said.

In fact, it had to have been at least twenty minutes before the van turned down a residential street. After that it passed through a gate and down a tree-lined lane. Whatever house they had arrived at, Liz thought, it was probably huge, private, and expensive enough to be worthy of Red's tastes.

Meanwhile, Ressler had stirred a few times, and his eyelids had fluttered once or twice. That seemed to be it. Liz tried not to panic that this latest head injury, on top of what Red's people had done to knock him out earlier, was too much for his brain to handle. Maybe it had been pointless to release him from his handcuffs. But at least she had been able to make use of the trip to unlock her own cuffs, as well. She had kept her hands very still in her lap, and therefore the metal rings hadn't yet slid off her wrists. Maintaining the element of surprise here might save her life, and that of her partner.

When the vehicle came to a stop outside the mansion, Liz readied herself. The back door opened, and she took her chance. She swung the cuffs around to knock the gun out of the guard's hands. She used the moment of shock – and the fact that there were only three other guys there at the moment – to knock the guard off-balance, hard, into the side of the van. He slid to the floor. She dove to seize the gun he had been holding. She took out the three others, as well as the guard, before more men rushed out to surround the van. A lot more of them.

Desperate, Liz continued to fire at anyone who got close until she abruptly felt cold metal pressing into the back of her head. She froze. Someone had crept around through the front of the van while she was busy here at the back. With a terrible sinking feeling, she dropped the gun (she was nearly out of ammo anyway) and raised her hands. There were still at least a half dozen uninjured men gathered around her – not counting the man who had the gun pressed to her neck.

At that moment, the sound of someone applauding could be heard getting closer, from the direction of the house. As Liz's arms were wrenched behind her and she was pulled from the van, she stared in dismay. It was Solomon, smiling widely as he continued to clap. “Very impressive, Miss Keen. Bravo,” the man said. “Clearly, these men underestimated you. A grave mistake, and one that will not be repeated. Cuff her. Make sure she doesn't have any keys hidden on her this time.”

Liz felt her wrists being forced into cuffs, yet again – this time behind her back. The keys were taken from her hands. Meanwhile, Solomon came closer, until he was only a foot away from her. “Maybe you're wondering why you and your former partner are still alive, given how troublesome you've been for the people I work with,” he said. His smile had faded. “I admit, I was asked to get rid of you, and the assumption was that I would do it as soon as you were far enough out of the public eye that it would be hard to find you. But I have unfinished business with both you and that sleeping dog in the back of the van.”

“What unfinished business?” Liz asked. She was scared again, much more so than she had been before. This man was more ruthless and sadistic than almost anyone she had encountered during her time with the Bureau – and this time, there was no reason to expect Reddington or his people to save her. Or the Bureau, for that matter.

“The fact that I didn't get to kill either of you two the way I wanted to the last time, of course,” he said, beaming once more. “And now that I have you both here at the same time...” He laughed. “Well, all I have to do is decide which of you gets to watch the other die. I'll let you give your input now, since you're the one who's conscious.”

Liz tried to take a breath. She shook her head. “No...”

Solomon shrugged. “All right. I can decide without your input just as easily.” He took a step back, then looked around at the waiting men. “Bring Agent Ressler and Miss Keen inside.”

She struggled against the men holding her. She had to turn and look at the back of the van where Ressler lay. Finally she wrenched herself around. Then she gasped.

Her ex-partner was no longer unmoving on the van floor. Instead, a huge reddish-brown wolf snarled and sprang out of the car, already tearing at the throat of one of the men. His victim screamed. Several of the others let out exclamations of fear and drew their weapons, but more than one turned and fled.

“Shoot him!” Solomon yelled over the chaos, drawing his own weapon. Liz used the confusion to throw everything she had into attacking her captors. Ressler was still very much vulnerable to bullets in this form, she knew. Anyone she could take out would be one fewer guy who could shoot him. She was no doubt less vulnerable than he was, overall, since no one had taken her body armor off yet.

To her surprise and satisfaction, whether it was because some of the men had already run away or because of the sheer unexpectedness of an injured FBI agent turning into a giant wolf, it seemed like she and Ressler were winning. Though multiple shots had been fired, Ressler apparently wasn't hurt and was still on the attack. As for herself, she had succeeded in bringing her cuffed hands around so they were in front of her, and then she had fought hard enough to send one man falling into the sharp corner of the van door. He was now unconscious on the ground. But that left at least a couple of guys still on their feet – and Solomon was nowhere to be seen. That wasn't good.

Liz dodged a blow from her current opponent. Focus, she told herself. After a few more seconds of struggling, she managed to get her hands on his gun just as he was bringing it to bear. When it went off, the force of the shot sent her stumbling backward. She barely caught herself before she hit her own head on the edge of the van. At least she had knocked the weapon out of his hands in the process.

Ressler released his current victim and turned toward her with a sharp, worried bark. There was blood around his mouth.

“I'm fine,” she shouted, over the cries of the dying man in front of the wolf. She got to her feet, wincing. “It hit the vest.”

The wolf nodded, then leaped at the man Liz had been fighting before he could try to pick up his gun. Yelling, the man put up his arms and attempted to dodge, but Ressler was relentless. And then Liz saw Solomon behind him. His gun was raised.

“Ressler, look out!” she yelled, pointing over his shoulder. He wasn't going to be able to move in time. She scrambled to pick up the gun her last opponent had dropped.

There was a gunshot, and then a scream.

~~


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I'm still here! Sorry for the long delay between chapters - my excuse is a crazy busy two weeks plus a minor case of writer's block that I've since (thankfully) moved past. Maybe a longer chapter will help make up for it.
> 
> Thanks for continuing to read!

~~  
There was some reason he needed to be awake right now. Ressler knew this was true. It was urgent for him to be able to know what was going on. At the same time, he knew he couldn't just spring right up, for a number of reasons.

Awareness filtered back. He had just been dropped, not very gently, onto something that wasn't comfortable. His hands were behind his back. His head was throbbing. In general, he felt pretty awful.

Just then, he heard Liz's voice from close by. She sounded concerned. Now she was close to him, and her hands were on his. He felt-- She was touching the metal that was against his wrists. Something changed about the tension it was exerting on him.

A few seconds later, she wasn't so close to him anymore. There was someone else near them both, though. He didn't recognize this person's scent.

Liz sounded tense as she asked the other person – a man – a question. The man's response was terse. It took several seconds for Don's aching head to comprehend what he had just listened to, and that was when it all started to make sense. He remembered. They had been run off the road on the way to the courthouse. The Cabal. It had to be them, although there was a reason that was strange.

Don lay where he was, keeping his eyes shut for the most part. Liz, he realized, must have gotten hold of the keys, and she'd used them to unlock his handcuffs. Secretly. That was crucial. None of their captors (he could smell at least one other person in the vehicle) knew he wasn't restrained – and they didn't need to know he was regaining consciousness, either. Not until the right moment.

Ressler had never been so grateful for his heightened senses of smell and hearing as he was on that car trip. He could lie here, eyes closed, conserving his strength and giving himself time to recover a little bit more, and still remain almost fully aware of everything going on around him. He heard it when the car slowed and turned down a smaller street, and heard the heavy iron gate open to allow them into a driveway a few minutes after that. Even over the odors of the van, exhaust, and burning gasoline, he could smell that this driveway was bordered by trees and plenty of other greenery. This place had to be fairly isolated, then. A good location to kill some people who needed not to be found right away. Of course, their captors most likely didn't know about the tracking device attached to the inside collar of Liz's bulletproof vest. He had only opened his eyes for a very brief moment, but he thought he'd seen that she was still wearing the vest.

As they continued up the long driveway, Ressler heard Liz's breathing and heart rate speeding up dramatically. But he didn't detect a corresponding scent of fear, like he'd smelled on her when he had chased her down in that West Virginia forest. She had to be gearing herself up for something, then. If so, he would have her back.

Liz's plan was revealed as soon as the van stopped and the back door opened. Ressler listened as she sprang into action, taking down the man in the back with them and then using his gun to shoot at least three others in quick succession. He opened his eyes, slipping his hands out of the open cuffs and getting ready to join the fray. But there were too many men coming to surround the van. Liz was going to run out of ammo soon, and there was no other gun in reach for him to use. Which meant...

No one was looking at him right now, not even Liz. Quickly, he took off his tie, unbuttoned his shirt, and unbuckled his belt. That was all he had time for before he heard a man approaching from the front seat. He lay back down, arms behind his back, and hoped no one would notice the lack of cuffs.

A few seconds later, as the man he had heard climbing over the seats toward them stopped Liz, Ressler heard the sound of applause, and then his blood froze. That voice, that scent – it was Solomon again. Of course it was. Somehow, it wasn't the least bit surprising when the man came closer and explained why he hadn't just gone ahead and had them both killed as soon as they were in his men's custody: he wanted to kill them himself. Ressler's stomach churned as he imagined all the ways this psychopath might do that. And forcing whoever wasn't his first victim to watch – well, that would just be the icing on the cake for a man like him, wouldn't it? Except there was no way in hell Ressler was going to let that happen.

Solomon had barely finished giving his order to bring the two captives inside when Ressler sat up and channeled his fear and rage into his fastest transformation yet. It was easy, all too easy, to kill anyone who was close enough to take down. It didn't even seem to matter that some of them had guns that they were frantic to try to use on him. Liz, he noted out of the corner of his eye, was contributing as best she could to the takedown of their enemies, which was excellent … but Solomon had disappeared.

Ressler had just brought down another assailant. His jaws were still around the man's throat when a gun went off, terrifyingly close. With a jolt, he dropped the dying man and turned toward Liz, unable to stop himself from barking in alarm. She was holding herself up against the back of the van. He didn't see any blood, but maybe--

“I'm fine,” she called out. A part of him was disturbed by the fact that she had to speak loudly over the sound of the man he hadn't quite killed, screaming and choking in agony on the ground, but most of him was so relieved to hear her say the bullet had hit her vest that he left the man where he was. The guy who had shot Liz was still in front of her, and still a threat. He had to get there now.

Once again, he hadn't finished the kill when Liz shouted a warning. But this time, he knew if he looked away, the man he was fighting might actually do some damage, either to him or to Liz. He had pulled out a knife a second ago.

Still, Ressler could hear someone getting closer, behind him. And then suddenly he knew: it was Solomon. The man had fled when the fighting got too fierce, as he had before, and come back in time to finish his original goal. All of this occurred to Ressler in the three seconds following Liz's warning. He also was aware he had no time to get to cover before Solomon had the chance to shoot. He had one chance.

As fast as he could, Ressler seized his opponent by the arm that held the knife and wrenched him around, putting the man between himself and Solomon. He only barely accomplished this in time; the shot struck the man a millisecond later. Both he and Liz screamed. The now-dead man collapsed against Ressler, making him stagger backward. He took several steps back to allow the body to fall.

“Impressively quick thinking, Donald,” called Solomon. “I guess Miss Keen gets to die first, then.” He raised his weapon for another shot.

Growling, Ressler sprang toward Solomon, heedless of any possible risk to himself. But this time, the shot came from the opposite direction from what he was expecting – and then he felt white-hot pain score along his left shoulder. There was yet another cry of dismay from Liz. Ressler yelped at the impact and only just managed to stay upright.

As he panted and recovered his footing, Ressler looked up at Solomon. The man was staring down at his own chest in faint surprise, as a red stain blossomed over his heart. He raised his head, opened his mouth as if to speak, and then fell backward to the ground. Dead, Ressler could tell – finally.

“Oh my God, Ressler,” came Liz's distraught voice. He turned to see her running toward him. “God, I'm sorry! I was already pulling the trigger when you jumped at him – I didn't mean to-- Are you all right?”

He sat down and tried to get a look at his shoulder. There was blood welling up at that spot, and it stung, but it wasn't too awful. He guessed his fur had helped keep it from being anything worse than a graze. He met Liz's eyes and blinked once, still panting.

Her anxiety lessened a bit. “You're okay?”

Nodding, Ressler attempted to convey his thought that it was just a graze, as well as the fact that he didn't blame her. It had been a reckless, dangerous move for him to jump in front of Solomon, anyway.

“You're right that it doesn't look too serious, at least,” she said. She was breathing heavily as well. “We still need to stop the bleeding, but I'm not sure it's worth the risk to go inside this house for a first aid kit, just in case there are more of Solomon's men hanging around.”

Ressler whined faintly and shook his head. He didn't like the idea of sticking around here, either. Someone had been told about their trip to the courthouse, after all, which most likely meant a mole in the Post Office, or the White House Counsel's office. And if that was the case, he didn't know if it was a good thing or not for Liz to keep wearing her vest with the tracker. Although that had been set up by Aram, who Ressler knew would never knowingly endanger Liz.

At that, Liz stared at him and reached a hand to the back of her vest's collar. Her eyebrows rose. “You put a tracking device on this?”

He just looked at her. If he could have, he would have shrugged. He didn't feel guilty at all about having added this safeguard. Especially since, even though he wanted to trust that Liz was going to go through with this willingly, he didn't _know_. That thought, he did his best to keep to himself.

“Fine, whatever,” Liz said, rolling her eyes. “If Aram set it up, I'm inclined to think the Cabal must have found us some other way. I'll keep it on for a while. Let's get away from the area, though.”

Don nodded. Before he got to his feet, he reached around and cleaned the wound on his shoulder with his tongue, trying not to feel Liz's gaze on him as he did so. At least it was much easier to access than the spot where the subdermal tracker had been, not that long ago.

If Liz had any particular reaction to this, she hid it well. When he looked at her, she was scanning the driveway area where they were. Then she turned to him. “Do you, um, want to change back before we go anywhere? You can do that, right?”

Snorting, Don shook his head. Of course, all other things being equal, he would prefer to be human right now. But he didn't exactly have access to clothes – unless you counted his own, which were torn to pieces, or those of the various dead men around them. Which he didn't.

“Okay, that's fair,” she said, “but I bet there are some not-ruined clothes inside the house.”

Ressler conceded this point by heading in that direction. Things had been quiet since Solomon fell, so at least there didn't seem to be an immediate threat. He wouldn't mind finding some bandages for his shoulder, as well.

As they were going up the wide front steps of the porch, Ressler stopped and cocked an ear back. There was a phone ringing somewhere, among the bodies outside. He turned around to pinpoint the sound. Solomon's, naturally. A boss or associate checking in to see whether Elizabeth Keen and her FBI protector were dead, he supposed.

Liz had heard the ringing and seen its source a few seconds after him. From the way her lips thinned, she was reaching a similar conclusion about the now missed call's implications for them. “We aren't going to have much time, that's for sure,” she said.

They hurried up to the front door, which was shut but opened easily. As he had once before, when he joined up with Liz while she was still a fugitive, Ressler pushed past her to enter the building first. He stopped and listened halfway in. No sounds of movement reached his ears, and he detected no scents or anyone currently inside. With that, he entered the wide, ornate front room.

Liz was right behind him, tucking the gun she'd taken with her into her waistband. “Let's find you something to wear, first,” she suggested in a low voice.

The house seemed like it hadn't been occupied in a long-term way for a while. The first bedroom they came across had visible dust on the dressers and bed frame, but there were men's clothes in the closet that looked like they might fit Ressler decently. Or at least they looked like it at first, but when Liz took a dress shirt and a pair of slacks out to lay them on the bed, it became clear they were at least a couple of sizes too big.

Huffing, Don put his ears back and shook his head. Liz gave him an amused and vaguely annoyed look. “Yeah, I can tell this stuff isn't quite your size, but it's not like we have a lot of choices here,” she pointed out. “Unless you can tell me that there are a lot of other men who live here? If so, we could check their rooms, too, I guess.”

He shook his head again and sighed. As far as he could tell by scent, there wasn't much point in searching through the rest of the rooms. Plus, it seemed like a waste of time that could therefore end up being dangerous.

“Don't worry, Ressler,” Liz said. “You can always have someone bring you an extra suit at the courthouse. You know, just in case you end up in the news, or something.” He could tell she tried to say it jokingly, but it came out at least half serious. Before he could think of some way to reply, she went on, “I'll look in the master bathroom here for first aid supplies, okay?”

As Liz shut the door behind her, Ressler took a deep breath and focused. In a few seconds, he was on all fours on the floor, himself again. He shivered in the chill of the unheated room, and winced as standing up pulled at the graze on his shoulder. It was bleeding a little, he saw.

He tried not to wonder about whose clothes he was essentially stealing while he put on the pair of slacks Liz had laid out. At least whoever it was was only a little shorter than him, even if he was also evidently not interested in staying in shape. Ressler was going to need a belt. And, on a little bit of a different note, shoes. But he had managed to slip his own shoes off before he transformed, so he'd just have to walk outside in bare feet for a short distance. He dug some socks out of a drawer and found a belt.

Just then, Liz knocked on the inside of the bathroom door and called out, “Hey, I found some bandages and stuff in here. Are you decent? Can I come out?”

There was dried blood on his face, around and in his mouth, Ressler realized all of a sudden. He hurried to the bedside table and pulled out some tissues from the box there, trying not to gag at the lingering metallic taste. He wiped at his face as best he could.

“Ressler?” Liz said again. “Are you ready?”

He had no idea how successful he'd been at cleaning off the bloodstains on his face, but he didn't want to make her worry that something was wrong. He cleared his throat. “Uh, yeah, sure.”

Liz opened the bathroom door then. She was holding a bag of bandages and a bottle of peroxide. She smiled briefly as she looked him over (he was sure the slacks looked ridiculous, especially without a shirt). Then she grew serious as she said, “Why don't you sit down on the bed, and I'll take a look at your shoulder?”

Ressler did so. Liz sat down next to him, leaning to put her first aid supplies on the bedspread beside them. Then she frowned and muttered, “This thing isn't exactly built for maneuverability.” With that, she pulled off her vest. “Don't worry – I'll take it with us when we leave,” she told him, meeting his eyes before she set the vest on the ground.

Don acknowledged this with a nod. Then he sat still while Liz disinfected the wound and put on a few small bandages. It was difficult not to let himself be distracted by the feel of her hands on his bare skin, even though it was happening in these circumstances. He clenched his fists and tried to breathe normally.

“Sorry, am I hurting you?” she asked, presumably noticing the way he flinched the next time she touched him.

“No, it's fine,” he said. She was finished a few seconds later. “Thanks.”

She scoffed and started to gather up the supplies. “You don't have to thank me for doing the minimum I can do to fix where I _shot_ you, Ressler.”

“You also saved my life,” he pointed out, reaching to grab the shirt. “So I'm pretty sure that more than evens things out.”

When he next turned to her, her eyes were soft. “We saved each other's lives. Just like...” She trailed off.

Just like the way they used to, when they were partners, he thought. Not that it was likely they would ever be able to be that again. Ressler turned away and finished buttoning his borrowed shirt. “All right. We should go out and find a phone on one of those guys. I need to call Samar.”

“Yeah.”

Ressler stopped and listened again on the porch. There were still no sounds of approaching enemies or friends, so he went back to the van and retrieved his shoes while Liz found a cell phone. She handed it to him without a word.

Samar picked up after two rings. “Navabi.”

“Samar, it's Ressler.”

“My God!” She paused for a moment, and then went on in a quieter voice. “Ressler, where are you? Are you all right? Where's Liz?”

“We're both fine,” he said quickly. “And as for where we are, doesn't Aram have the tracking device? As far as we know, it wasn't damaged in the crash.”

She coughed once. “Ah, I see. That's good to hear.”

Ressler blinked. “So... You can't speak freely right now?”

“That's right,” she said.

Wondering who the hell else was at their black site now, he said, “In that case, we'll find a less exposed location to wait for backup. Whoever's there with you can't know where we are, all right?”

“Yes,” said Samar. “We'll do that.”

“If there's a way you can give Cynthia Panabaker an update – discreetly – then please do. And please text me her number at this phone afterward, too.”

“Got it.” She hung up.

“What's going on?” Liz wanted to know.

Ressler shook his head. “I'm not exactly sure, but Samar didn't feel able to speak freely on the phone, whatever or whoever the reason.”

Liz frowned. “So now what?”

“I guess we wait,” he said. He sighed, and then bent down to retrieve a weapon from one of Solomon's men. It had several rounds missing. “But not here.”

“Then where?” Liz said, one eyebrow raised. “Not that I disagree that we need to move, but … we don't know where is safe from the Cabal.”

Ressler checked another dead man's pockets and found two extra clips. He tossed one to Liz, who caught it, and then he stood up. “Those woods over there are at least safer than being out in the open here.” He pointed to the south side of the driveway. “And I'll hear anyone coming long before they would ever hear or see us in there.”

Liz stared at him, then nodded. “Fine.” She put the extra clip in her pocked and, carrying the bulletproof vest, followed him into the cover of the trees.

A minute later, she broke the silence that had fallen. “So do you still have better hearing while you're-- not transformed, then?”

“Yeah,” he said shortly, stepping over a fallen tree. The last time they had both been in a forest, he'd been chasing her down as she fled. “Better sense of smell, too.”

“Oh.” Perhaps sensing that he didn't want to talk a lot about that topic, she said, “How are you feeling, anyway? Red's people knocked you out earlier, and then the car crash...”

He considered for a moment. “My head hurts a little, but not too bad. I think...” He trailed off, and then decided he might as well tell her his theory. “I think transforming generally tends to help with whatever injuries I might have. No idea how that works.”

“Huh.” She gave him a wry smile. “Well, I guess that's a nice side effect.”

“I guess so.”

They kept going further in for another minute or so. Then Ressler's phone chimed. He took it out and saw a text from Samar: _Talked to P. She'll send marshals to pick you up._ After that was Panabaker's phone number.

Sending her a quick thanks, Don glanced up at Liz. “Samar. She sent me Cynthia Panabaker's number so I can tell her how to find us.”

Liz nodded, and then bit her lip.

“What is it?”

“You-- you know that this woman is trustworthy?” she asked. “I mean, you're as sure as possible?”

He took a step closer to her. “I told you in the car, Liz. Yes. As sure as I can be.” It wasn't like he didn't understand her anxiety. It wasn't like he wasn't anxious about keeping them both alive until Liz finally got to her trial, himself. Still, he really, really hoped he didn't end up having to chase her again. “And I promised I'd keep you safe, too,” he repeated. When she maintained her gaze on his, he held up the phone. “So I'll call her, tell her to get our location from Samar and Aram, all right?”

“All right,” she said.

His conversation with Cynthia Panabaker was short and to the point. The woman herself came off as intelligent, no-nonsense, and practical. “I'll speak directly to Agent Navabi about locating you two,” she said. “She already filled me in on the short version of everything that's happened today. I'll be interested to hear more when I meet you in person.”

“And your confident in the marshals you're bringing with you?” Don asked.

“As confident as I am in anybody,” she said, almost sounding cheerful. “But I'll ask you in turn: you're confident this ex-partner of yours isn't going to cause you any trouble? I gather it's just you and her out there.”

“She's ready to come in,” Don replied, glancing at where Liz was waiting, seated on a moss-covered log. “We'll be fine.”

“Excellent. Then I will call to let you know when we're on the way, and I'll see you within half an hour, Agent Ressler. Sit tight.”

“Yes, ma'am.” Don put away the phone and went to sit next to Liz. “She estimated about half an hour,” he told her.

“Okay.” Liz shivered, and then put the vest around herself. “Getting a little cold.”

Evening was, in fact, approaching fast. It would be colder than it already was by the time their secure transportation arrived. He frowned. That was one thing he hadn't considered in all of this. As a breeze blew past them, he noticed that he was getting a little chilly, as well. “Should've borrowed a couple of suit jackets from whoever owns this place, at least.”

She grinned, opening her mouth to say something, but then stopped.

“What?”

“I was just going to say,” she replied, her eyes and her tone teasing, “I bet we could almost both fit in one of his jackets. At least, it sure seems like it, based on how well the rest of his clothes fit you.”

Ressler scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Very funny.” But now he was imagining sitting with her under the same coat, with his arms around her (and hers around him) so they could keep warm. And it turned out that was a highly distracting image. He swallowed. Now was not a good time for that kind of daydream. He needed to focus on the problem at hand.

That was when the solution presented itself. There was a very easy way to keep himself from getting too cold. All he needed was the thick layer of fur that would be available to him if he changed. And then if he did that, he could do much the same as he had just been imagining, with Liz ... except not in the form he had been imagining it. Plus, if he did this, it would have to mean several more transformations in a short space of time, which would most likely bring on another hypoglycemic reaction. Unless... He could stay in wolf form while he escorted Liz to the courthouse, he supposed. He bit his lip. That did not appeal to him at all.

“What are you thinking about?” Liz asked. She had her arms pulled in close to herself, under the vest.

“I'm sorry I didn't think about the cold before now,” he said. “I was-- I could transform again, and then I'd be warm and I could, uh, keep you warm. But then you'd have to answer the phone when Panabaker calls back, and I'd have to change back when she gets here. And it turns out it uses a hell of a lot of energy to transform that much in a short period of time, so that would probably cause an unsafe drop in blood sugar for me. So I don't know--”

“Ressler,” she interrupted, looking faintly amused at his rambling. “It's okay. It's not freezing, just getting toward uncomfortably cold. I'll live, and so will you.”

He was about to reply when he heard the sound of a car engine – multiple car engines – coming down the road leading to the house. He straightened and held up a hand at Liz's half-formed question. After several seconds of listening, he said in a low voice, “We've got at least three vehicles, probably SUVs or vans, incoming. They're not our transport. Panabaker hasn't called back yet and it hasn't been close to a half hour.”

Liz pulled out her weapon. “The Cabal?”

“I'm guessing,” he said with a nod. “We won't be visible from the driveway, but there's no way to know if they'll decide to look for us in here or not.”

“We could keep going,” she suggested. “Might keep us warmer to be moving, anyway.”

Ressler thought for a moment. “Let's wait and see if there's any way I can learn anything else about who they are before we do that.” After all, he had no idea where this forest led, and he wanted to maintain cell reception, for one thing.

They were both silent, other than the sounds of their breathing and the noises of a few nighttime insects, while Ressler did his best to keep listening.

The convoy of vehicles did, in fact, turn down the driveway. There were three of them, he could distinguish now. He passed that on to Liz. The wind, unfortunately, was not in his favor this time, so while he could hear that there were a large number of people (which made sense, for three large vehicles), he couldn't yet tell how many or if any of them were familiar.

“Do we keep going, then?” Liz asked when he told her this. “It's getting dark.”

“That's true,” he replied, after a beat. He hated that so much of this situation remained up in the air. “I guess we can go on until we find somewhere more defensible, or until we run out of light. I don't want to get too much farther away from here, if we can avoid it, anyway.”

Hardly had they started to make their way further into the forest when Ressler's phone rang. It was a different number from his most recent call, though – not Panabaker.

“Shit.” He hadn't thought of that – of what he should do if someone tried to call the man whose phone he had. The number wasn't in the guy's contact list, either.

“It could be Red,” Liz pointed out, though she looked uncertain.

She was right. Taking a breath, Ressler answered with, “Who is this?”

“Donald,” Reddington said without preamble, “Agent Navabi passed along this number when I asked. Are you and Elizabeth currently safe?”

“Currently,” he said. “We're hiding in the woods by the place where Solomon's men took us, but someone just arrived. No idea who, but there are a lot of them.”

“That's what I'm calling about,” said Reddington. “As you may have guessed, those men were sent by what remains of the Cabal – which is unfortunately still powerful enough to be a serious threat. They've come to investigate why Solomon hasn't called in to report on the deaths of Elizabeth Keen and a certain particularly troublesome FBI agent.”

“Then right about now, they must be wondering why so many of the men out there have their necks broken or their throats torn out,” Ressler said grimly. He resisted the urge to rub at the sides of his mouth. Liz still hadn't said anything about it, so he must not look too bad.

“I had wondered if you might have used your other form to make it possible for you and Elizabeth to escape,” he replied, sounding delighted. “Tell me, did Solomon meet his end in that same fashion?”

“No. Liz shot him.”

“Hmm, that works just as well,” said Reddington. “But I digress. The point of this call is that you need to warn your friend from the White House Counsel's office that these people aren't likely to have gone anywhere before she gets there. Nor are they going to care about the lives of some federal marshals, if they get between them and their goal. She's going to need more than just a little bit of backup to get you two out of there.”

Ressler felt a chill, imagining what would happen if Panabaker and her team came here without any advance warning. “I'll make sure she knows ASAP.”

“Good. Stay safe, both of you.” He didn't wait for a response before ending the call.

“I need to warn Panabaker about this,” Ressler said to Liz. “Reddington confirmed the people out there are Cabal. Who knows how he knows, but anyway.”

After Ressler's update, the two of them stood in tense silence. Panabaker had appreciated the warning, of course, but had also told him it would mean a delay while she prepared an adequate number of still-trustworthy forces to combat those arrayed against them. “I'll make it as quick as I can, though,” she promised as she signed off. “You just stay hidden for as long as you can – and if that fails, hold out for as long as you can. We can still make this work, Agent Ressler.”

Despite her reassurances, Ressler found himself trying not to panic. It was one thing for Liz and him to have fought off Solomon's men when they both had had the element of surprise working for them. But it was dark now, and they each had very limited ammunition, and the team out there was no doubt more heavily armed and readier for a real fight. The two of them wouldn't be able to stay hidden for too long. Once they were found, there was still the possibility of him transforming again, despite his misgivings. He supposed he could hold that in reserve.

“Ressler,” said Liz, breaking their silence, “I never really go the chance to tell you before: thank you for saving my life, and Red's life, in that hospital in West Virginia. I-- I'm glad you found us, after you got away from Solomon.”

Ressler turned to look at her. It was nearly full dark by now, and oddly enough his night vision wasn't all that enhanced when he wasn't transformed, but he could still see her face. She looked determined. “I'm glad, too,” he told her. “But I hope you're not saying all this as some kind of goodbye, Keen. We're not going to die here.” He thought he'd succeeded in sounding confident.

Liz flashed him a small, quick smile. “Yeah. But just in case.”

“Well, on that note,” he said, after a moment, “I haven't had a chance to tell you yet: I believe you were framed. I believe you're innocent, and I understand why you killed Connolly.”

She took a sharp breath. “Thank you.” Her voice was choked.

The sound of another vehicle arriving just then interrupted their conversation. This car was smaller than the other ones. In the still night air, they both heard it when, a few seconds later, a dog barked. No, it was a hound. Ressler felt the hair on his neck stand on end. That was the sound of a hunter, a tracker of some kind, that had just found a scent. And he'd bet money it was either his or Liz's scent.

“What the hell-- They brought a dog to track us down?” Liz tightened her grip on her gun. “How far in do you think we are – half a mile, maybe, or a mile?”

“Not much more than that, for sure,” he replied. It wasn't going to take an animal with tracking skills very long to locate them. If he had been tense before, now he was starting to find it difficult not to change into the wolf just to take refuge in those simpler, instinctive reactions. But he needed to protect Liz. Right now, the best way to do that was to remain human.

“It'd be nice if there was a stream or something to walk through nearby,” Liz said, almost under her breath. At his look, she shrugged. “That's what they always do in the movies, to confuse the hunting dogs.”

Ressler would have smiled if the moment were less tense. “Yeah, but let me tell you: that would only work if the hunting dog and its handlers weren't particularly smart.”

“Pretty sure it's not supposed to solve the problem – just give whoever's being hunted a little more time,” Liz pointed out. She looked around. “And all we need is to buy ourselves more time. Right?”

“If all goes well, yes.” He took a deep breath, to see if he could smell any nearby water source, just in case. She was right that anything they could do to increase the time they could hold out was worth the effort. “Turns out there's a stream over that way, not too far from here.”

With a minimum of stumbling around in the dark (at least they had the light of Ressler's phone, since Ressler judged their pursuers were still far enough away not to see it), they arrived at the stream a few minutes later. When he saw it, Ressler sighed. It was really more of a very small creek. But still...

“Well, it could still help, right?” said Liz, breathing a little heavily from the hike. “If we use it well, anyway.”

He nodded, and then remembered she probably couldn't see the gesture in this light. “Yeah, let's give it a shot,” he said.

With great care, so as not to slip and fall into the flowing water, the two of them stepped in. They went through some of the shallower parts and picked their way along the stream's course for a while – long enough, they hoped, that a dog would lose their scent for at least some time. Then they crossed to the other side and hid behind a patch of tall grass and low bushes. There was an overhanging tree there to complete the picture.

As they were settling in as best they could, the phone in Ressler's hand buzzed. “Panabaker's on the way with what she calls 'plenty of backup',” he said in a low voice.

“How far out are they? Did she say?”

“About twenty minutes.” Ressler texted her back, a simple request to hurry, and then put the phone away. “But I don't think those guys out there are going to take that long.”

As if to underscore this, the dog bayed again a few seconds later. It was significantly closer, and its handlers and whoever else were starting to become more audible, as well. Don supposed this must be how Liz had felt, each time the FBI closed in on her and Red. It was a terrible feeling.

The two of them stayed silent as the hunters drew even closer. By now they could see the flashlights that the Cabal team had brought with them – in the distance, but still. Don glanced over at Liz and swallowed with difficulty. He had promised her that she would be safe. That he would be the one to keep her that way.

“Liz,” he whispered, bending closer to her, “if I transform, I know I can draw that dog's attention away from you. It'll be only too happy to follow my scent. I'll give you the phone first. Then you can stay hidden and--”

“No,” Liz cut in sharply. Then she lowered his voice to match his. “I'm not letting you lure that whole group after yourself, especially not in a way that means I can't even watch your back. Not going to happen.” With a shuddering breath, she added, “Please don't die for me, Ressler.”

It took him a moment to be able to reply. He touched her hand briefly before whispering, “Well, I wasn't exactly planning to die. But you're right that it's a hell of a lot harder for us to protect each other if we aren't even in sight of each other.” Besides, there was no way to absolutely guarantee that everyone in this group that was on their way now would have followed him if he transformed. Maybe some of them would have stayed and managed to find Liz.

In the end, though it was bad, it was not as bad as Ressler had feared. The dog started barking with more excitement as the scent it was following got fresher, and then the whole group was visible, across the creek, with their flashlights and searchlights shining all around in front of their path. His and Liz's little detour through the water did in fact slow them down, though not for more than two minutes or so.

And then they were close enough, and it was inevitable that he and Liz would be found in a matter of moments. So with a shared look, the two of them – sheltered as best as they could be – started shooting.

Of course they were massively outnumbered and outgunned. There had to be at least a dozen people in the group, maybe closer to twenty, and although he and Liz took out three or four of them right away, the rest of them returned fire quickly in a deafening barrage. And they began to press forward, closer and closer to their prey's hiding spot, even as Ressler and Liz continued to fire at them.

Just when it looked like they were going to go down (at least it would probably be quick, Ressler remembered thinking later: no torture, no sadistic bastard trying to find the way to inflict the most mental and physical pain possible, just a bullet to the heart or head), the sound of multiple approaching vehicles became audible even over the sounds of gunshots. Ressler wasn't about to take his eyes off his enemies for long enough to check – but it had to be Panabaker and her backup.

It didn't take long for the Cabal team to notice this arrival, as well. Ressler almost smiled as he saw and heard each of the remaining men realize that even if they successfully killed their targets right now, these new arrivals meant that they would not be escaping. Not without another fight, anyway. Some of the men kept on with what they were doing, but others of them took off in a variety of directions through the dark woods.

At that moment, another bullet whizzed past his face, and another, forcing him to duck behind the tree again. Then next to him, Liz jerked and fell backward to the ground. Panicked, Ressler fired a shot blindly toward their enemies as he turned toward her. But she was moving, and he saw and smelled no dark stain of blood on her. She struggled back up into a crouch a second later. Over the continued weapons fire, he could just barely hear her cough as she held her hand to her stomach. The vest. It would bruise, but she was fine for now.

Shortly after this, the last bullet in Don's second clip was fired. He was out. Their opponents were definitely reduced in number, but now...

Liz fired another shot from next to him. “You out?” she yelled.

“Yeah,” he told her loudly. This was it. This was when he would have to transform. Of course the hunting dog was long gone by now (thankfully no one had seen fit to leave it in the middle of a firefight), but he only had the wolf's weapons to use.

Before any of them could make any further moves, the whole scene changed. “Attention: to all those currently engaged in firing on an FBI agent and a fugitive in federal custody,” came Cynthia Panabaker's voice, amplified through a megaphone. “By the authority of the US government, I'm ordering you to stand down now. If you surrender, you might avoid some of the laundry list of charges each one of you is facing. That depends to a large extent on whether or not Elizabeth Keen and Donald Ressler are alive and unharmed. If not, and if you don't surrender, well … I personally guarantee you'll either end up dead or in prison for the rest of your lives.”

To Ressler's immense relief, no one there seemed to be the type to stay loyal to the Cabal even until their certain death. No one resumed firing, at least not right away.

“That silence seems to show you all are making the right choice,” Panabaker continued after a moment. “Marshals are on their way to you right now. Stay where you are, with your weapons on the ground and your hands over your heads.”

Liz and Ressler stayed where they were as well, until the aforementioned marshals arrived on the scene and had taken the remaining Cabal team into custody. Then Ressler stood up, offering his hand to Liz. She took it and stood as well. “You guys showed up just in time,” he called out, stepping into view. Liz was right behind him. She had left her gun on the ground, Ressler noted.

“Agent Ressler?” said one of the marshals. “I'm Deputy Marshal Erickson. Are you two all right? Do you need medical attention?”

He glanced at Liz and saw his own exhaustion reflected in her eyes. He said, “Thank you, Deputy Marshal. I think a checkup from a doctor isn't a bad idea, but what we really need right now is to get the hell out of here, if you wouldn't mind.”

Erickson smiled. “I think I can understand that. We'll escort you out of here, then.”

On the way out of the forest, he sent a text to Samar and to Reddington that said they were safe, and now on the way to their original destination. Both of them were glad to hear it.

He was grateful that Panabaker, too, seemed so genuinely pleased to see them both alive and well, when they got back to the area where their transport was waiting. He was also grateful that she didn't ask him (or Liz, thought that was less likely in these circumstances) to give any kind of statement yet. Instead, she first informed him that his gun, badge, and phone had been recovered and would be returned to him when they reached their destination. Then she handed him a plastic bag that she said Agent Navabi had said he might need. It was his change of clothes from the office. Ressler reminded himself to thank Samar next time he saw her.

Eyeing him briefly as Liz was outfitted with a new vest that didn't have two bullets embedded in it, Panabaker said, “If you don't mind my asking, what exactly happened here?”

“My, uh, most of my clothes were ruined in the first half of the fight here tonight, with Solomon's men,” he said, leaving out the little detail that he'd been the one to destroy them, by transforming into an enormous wolf. “So I had to borrow some clothes from whoever lives at this house here. He's not exactly my size.”

The woman smiled. “So I see.”

Once they were seated in their SUV, both Liz and Ressler were given water bottles by the marshals escorting them. Erickson promised that they would have the chance to eat some kind of meal once they reached the courthouse. “I'm guessing neither of you have had much time for that today,” he said.

“No,” said Liz, taking another swallow of her water. “Not so much.”

Food sounded really good, Ressler had to agree. But they had to get to the courthouse safely first.

Mercifully, this time the drive was all but uneventful. He had a few calls – one from Cooper by way of Samar, and one from Reddington. These were updates on the Karakurt situation as well as the plan that was being put together to exonerate Liz. Other than that, the most troubling part of the trip was when Liz, voice shaking a little, spoke aloud her desire to hand-write a will, since she didn't have one. It was against protocol for a prisoner in her position to be given a pen and paper, but there was no way Ressler was going to stop her, when it was such a simple way to help her have at least one fewer worry on her mind. As much as he hated the implications of her needing to do this now.

There was a small crowd of reporters and protesters gathered at the courthouse entrance; Don supposed someone along the way must have leaked the news of Liz's arrest. He wondered if these people had been waiting here since the convoy had been scheduled to arrive. If so, he thought, with a little flash of anger, he didn't pity them.

But he and the marshals got her inside without any interference from the crowd. And then, after they each changed clothes – her into a prison jumpsuit and him into his spare clothes that Samar had sent along – they each had a very brief medical examination from the medic on site. She pronounced them both fine, aside from scrapes, bruises, and exhaustion. She also changed Ressler's bandage. And then it was time to shut Liz into yet another cell. It hurt him to do it, but at least the fact that she was there meant she was safe for now.

Liz sat down on the bare cot in the cell after he shut the door, and put her head into her hands. “Oh my God.”

“Yeah,” Don agreed, pulling over the chair he'd been provided and sinking into it.

“They would have killed us out there. Both of us. They almost did.”

There had been far too many close calls today. Ressler swallowed and met her gaze. “But you're safe now, Liz. I'm not going anywhere tonight, and then tomorrow you'll be arraigned. And Reddington and the others are still working to take down the rest of the Cabal.”

Liz just stared at him without speaking. She looked worn-out and terrified, and there was something like despair lurking in her eyes. He was just about to try for more reassurance when there was a knock on the door at the end of the corridor. “That's our dinner delivery,” he said, the scent of the food making his mouth water and his stomach rumble. “Be right back.”

He didn't mind that they had both been given the kind of fare that detainees here got. It wasn't exciting food by any stretch, but it was filling and hot. It was hard for him to eat with any kind of decorum, as hungry as he was. But at least Liz's worry didn't seem to be great enough to keep her from eating, so she wasn't watching him closely or anything.

They were both finishing up when Ressler felt his phone vibrate. Taking it out of his pocket, he read the text from Reddington, and then called him. “We're here,” he said.

“Excellent. May I speak to her?”

“Yeah.” He took the phone away from his ear, and passed it through the bars to Liz. “It's for you.”

Their conversation wasn't long. Ressler did his best not to listen in, though it sounded like it was really just Reddington assuring Liz that everything on his end was going according to plan. Liz seemed a very little bit reassured when she passed the phone back through to him, though she still didn't say much.

After he returned their empty trays to the marshal waiting just outside, Ressler sat back down in his chair. “Liz,” he said, “I know this hasn't all gone the way I wanted it to. I thought I'd be able to take you in, get you here safely, without any interference or attacks along the way. I'm sorry that didn't happen.”

She gave him a sad smile and shook her head. “It's not your fault, Ressler.”

He appreciated hearing her say that, but he wasn't sure he believed her. If he hadn't been so blind to the corruption in the system, there had to have been a way he could have, at the very least, kept her safer today. “Maybe not,” he said. “Anyway, why don't you try to get some sleep? I'll be here.”

She scoffed lightly. “I guess I could try.”

He scanned the interior of her cell as she prepared to lean back on the cot. It was totally bare of blankets or pillows, of course. “Wait a second,” he said, taking off his jacket, emptying the pockets, and folding it up. “Use this, if you want to.”

She stood up again to take it from him, with a soft, “Thanks.” Then she managed something closer to a real smile. “It's not as huge as that house owner's would have been, so I think I'll opt to use it as a pillow instead of a blanket.”

He grinned for a moment, settling himself against the stiff chair back as best as he could. “Whatever works.”

Liz folded up his jacket and lay down with her head resting on it. “You're not going to be cold?” Her eyes were already slipping shut.

“I'll be fine, Liz. Sleep.” It wasn't cold in here, and besides, he didn't need to be comfortable. The important thing was to make sure Liz got this chance to take a break from worrying, for a few hours at least.

~~


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: *major spoilers* from the latest episode, and angst of a related subject matter as I've changed the plotline for this AU.

~  
As he stood there and listened to Laurel Hitchin's replacement deliver her speech proclaiming that Elizabeth Keen had been mistakenly pursued as a terrorist, traitor, and spy, and how sorry she was for the terrible things Miss Keen had been forced to endure, Ressler did his best not to show any outward reaction. Inwardly, he was fuming. Of course they would spin it to make it look like targeting Liz had been an honest mistake. And of course they'd make it look like Tom Connolly, Peter Kotsiopulos, and Laurel Hitchin had been the main players in the conspiracy, so the American public was safe now that they were all eliminated (or in Kotsiopulos' case, had fled the country. Ressler did wonder what had actually happened to the man).

Cooper came over to join him as the woman was starting to wrap up. “Inspiring, isn't it?” he said in a dry undertone.

“It's a load of--” He censored himself, both in vocabulary and volume, just in time. Another agent standing nearby shot them both a look, but then returned his attention to the woman at the podium.

“Still, it's a start,” Cooper said, not at all disagreeing with the sentiment.

“Yeah. I guess.”

It was a strange feeling, after that, not to have the constant worry hanging over him about Liz being assassinated or kidnapped or arrested. She was safe enough that Don allowed himself to be persuaded to leave her side for more than a few minutes, for the first time in nearly two days.

“Seriously, Ressler,” Liz had said to him, when he went back down to see her in the courthouse holding cell after the public exoneration, “go home. Shower, relax, go back to the Post Office – anything but sticking around here until they officially release me. We know it's going to happen. We know the Cabal now has no reason to want to pursue me.” She came to stand just in front of him, gripping the bars with one hand as she looked into his eyes. “I'm fine. I'm safe. You kept your promise. In just a few hours, I'll be free.”

Her gratitude and sincerity made it difficult for him to speak. But as much as he appreciated her assurance, he found himself texting Reddington's number before he agreed to go.

 _Will she be safe now?_ he asked simply.

After a moment, the response came back: _There's no evidence of any further threats. They're aware of what will happen to them if anything happens to her._

Ressler read this, and then eventually he nodded and put his phone away. “Call me when you get out,” he said. Then he flushed. “I mean--” She didn't have a phone. She didn't have access to anything but the possessions that had been on her when she was arrested.

Liz smiled at him. “It's okay, Ressler. I'll find a way to contact you.”

The next several hours passed surprisingly quickly. He did, in fact, make a stop at his apartment, to shower, shave, and change his clothes. After that he went back to the Post Office, and moved out what little of his stuff he'd bothered to put in Cooper's office. As he told the man himself, when Cooper arrived, he was only too happy to go back to being a field agent. On the other hand, he reflected once he had moved back, it remained to be seen how well he did sitting in his old office by himself – since it wasn't likely Liz would be sharing it with him now that she was an asset rather than an agent. Not any time soon, anyway.

It was only when evening started to fall that time began to drag. Sure, he had plenty of reports and paperwork to fill out, but they weren't exactly easy to focus on. Especially not in comparison to wondering how Liz was doing, if she had been released yet, and what she was planning to do next. Whether she – and the rest of the team, for that matter – would be able to adjust to her new role. What it would mean for how they related to each other.

Ressler finally packed up and left, a few minutes after 7:30. He still hadn't gotten a call from Liz, or been contacted in any way. He tried not to worry about that. If he could manage not worrying, maybe tonight he'd be able to sleep close to a full eight hours for a change, knowing his former partner was out of danger.

He was just opening the front door of his apartment when his phone rang. It was an unknown number. Smiling, he went inside and answered, “Hello?”

“Hey,” came her voice. He could hear that she was smiling, as well. “Thought I'd call to let you know this my new number, for my new non-burner phone.”

“I'll add it to my contacts,” he said, feeling his heart lighten. “So I take it you're out, then? Are you with Reddington?”

“Yes, and yes,” she replied. “He insisted on taking me shopping – or his version of shopping, anyway – for essentials.”

That was an interesting mental image. He wondered just what Red's version of 'shopping for essentials' would even include. “I see. Where are you going to stay tonight – with Red?”

“At least for the night, yeah. I didn't want another motel room, so I'm going to--” Whatever she had started to say was interrupted by Reddington's loud voice on the other end. Ressler could hear it just fine:

“Tell Donald where we're staying, if you wish. And tell him you'll be perfectly safe. He can take the night off from guard dog duty.”

“Red!” Liz said reproachfully, from a little distance away from the phone. Then she came back and said, “Let me guess: you could hear him just then.”

“Every word,” Ressler acknowledged. As was so often the case with Red, it was a toss-up whether he'd land on irritated or amused. “I'd tell you to tell him where he can go, but I bet you can guess.”

She laughed, and the sound lifted his heart even more. “I'll be sure to pass that along.”

There was a pause, and then Liz spoke again. “He's actually been very complimentary toward you, and toward the rest of the task force. I think he's planning some sort of in-person thank you.”

“That sounds kind of ominous,” he said.

“I guess you'll have to see,” she replied. She cleared her throat. “But, um, I want to thank you, too – all of you guys, but especially you, Ressler. In person and with no bars between us.”

He took a breath. There had been so many times over the course of this that he had put her in danger by his own actions, or failed to think ahead to all the possible dangers she might face. “Well, I don't know if I really deserve being singled out,” he said quietly, “but I'll look forward to that, anyway.”

“All right. See you tomorrow, Ressler,” she said, and then tried to cover a yawn.

“Good night, Liz,” he said. “Sleep well.”

“You, too.”

~~  
It was not an easy thing, to try to put her life back together. She hadn't imagined it would be, though of course she had foolishly hoped she would at least be able to have her badge back. But that dream was on hold for the foreseeable future. She had more immediate problems – like finding a place to live. She wanted to be able to reclaim all of her belongings, which were currently in the process of being released from evidence. Her bank account was no longer frozen. And although she wasn't about to let Red buy her another absurdly expensive apartment, she did accept his help in looking for one more suited to her tastes.

“Thank you,” he said, at breakfast on the first full day of her freedom, when she said yes to his help. “I hope you'll also accept some assistance with paying for it. It would,” he paused, and to her faint surprise, looked for a moment like he might lose his composure. “It would be my pleasure to make this transition just a little easier for you, Lizzie.”

Liz watched him for a few seconds, as he took his eyes off hers and reached for his coffee. He looked tired, too, she saw. She was sure no one else but Dembe had been allowed to see that. “All right,” she said at last. “But only because you actually asked me first this time.” She was only half-joking.

Red gave her a little smile. “Excellent. So tell me, Lizzie: what's your preferred price range? What are your non-negotiables? Perhaps we can find the right place today, if we're lucky.”

It ended up taking a few more days until she found a place that was just right. It was a little closer to the Post Office than her place with Tom had been. A little smaller, too, but everything about it suited her. She unpacked all the “essentials” Red had taken her to buy (which mostly included gourmet food and a few actual practical items), and then leaned back against the cushions of her new couch. She had a home again. It was a nice, strangely novel feeling. Even if most of her things were still in boxes.

That feeling helped to balance out the awkwardness of going back to the Post Office for the first time since she was brought there in shackles. She and Red weren't bringing the task force a new case yet, but they needed to meet with Cooper to discuss her new role. There were also a few loose ends she wanted to tie up – and besides, Red wanted to thank Cooper, Aram, Samar, and Ressler in person, as she'd mentioned to Ressler that night. She figured she ought to come along so she could add her own gratitude.

When Reddington's car arrived at the black site, Liz had to take a deep breath. It was only three days since she had been freed. That meant it hadn't been much longer than that since her last entrance here.

“Lizzie,” said Red, when she made no move to get out of the car, “I know this is not going to be easy, but it needs to be done, if you ever want to move forward.”

“I know,” she sighed. Then she raised her head and reached for the door handle. “Well, at least it shouldn't be as awful as last time, right?”

“Nowhere to go but up,” he agreed, and opened his own door.

In fact, it was better than the previous time – mostly. Many of her former colleagues smiled and welcomed her back. There were a few of them who stared at her in a way that made her pretty sure they didn't believe she was innocent of any of the charges.

However, her friends (mostly Aram, she guessed afterward) had prepared a little table of goodies in the corner of the War Room, all under a banner that said, “WELCOME BACK, LIZ!”

“Aw, you guys,” said Liz, feeling a smile spread across her face as she approached the group of them, “this is-- this is very sweet. You really didn't have to do this.”

“But we wanted to,” said Aram, coming forward to give her a hug.

“It's good to see you, Liz,” Samar said, and gave her another hug after Aram was finished.

“It's really good to see you – all of you – too,” she replied. She moved her gaze from Aram and Samar to Cooper and Ressler, as she heard Red approach beside her. “I know some of the story of what you all did to get me here, and I … I don't have words to thank you enough. I can't explain why you would do so much for me, when I put all of you in such a terrible position.”

“Well, speaking for myself,” said Cooper, stepping closer to shake her hand and then continue the hugs, “it was definitely worth it.”

The others agreed, and Ressler said, “Definitely.” His gaze on her was intense enough that she suppressed a shiver.

“Yes, each of you were an invaluable part of the plan's success,” Red put in. “And you have my gratitude, as well.”

They had all spent a few more minutes chatting and enjoying the treats that Aram had brought, before Cooper almost apologetically interrupted to suggest that Liz and Reddington come up to his office for their meeting.

“We'll save you some cupcakes,” Aram called after her.

“Maybe,” Ressler corrected. “Depending on how long your meeting takes, anyway.”

Liz scoffed as she went up the stairs. “Thanks, Ressler. Very kind of you.”

“You should watch that figure of yours, Donald,” was Reddington's parting shot from behind Liz. “Too many of those cupcakes and you won't be able to chase down criminals anymore.”

The meeting didn't contain too many surprises for Liz. Cooper basically just wanted to make sure they were all on the same page. “I want this task force to continue its operations largely the same as we did before,” he said. “I know it can't be exactly the same as it was – and I know the differences will unfortunately affect you most of all, Elizabeth. Since you're no longer allowed to carry a weapon, as a convicted felon, you can't be a field agent anymore. But I'll see to it that you're authorized to come and go as freely as anyone else here. And of course your assistance in profiling and your experience will continue to be invaluable.”

Liz bit her lip, and then said, “Thank you, sir. I understand the limitations I have to work under now, and I-- I'm fine with it.” It had been a wrench to turn in her badge and service weapon, and it stung even more to be forced onto the sidelines, as she knew it would.

“I'm glad you can say that, even if I'm not sure I believe you.” Cooper turned to Reddington. “Our usual arrangement with you is back in place. Unless you two need to alter it now.”

Red shook his head. “None of the additional tasks I might ask Elizabeth to do require any alterations to either of our agreements, I believe.”

Liz turned to him, raising one eyebrow. “'Additional tasks'?”

Red just nodded and returned her gaze mildly. “Nothing too outlandish, I can assure you, Lizzie.”

Cooper looked faintly amused, and remarked, “I see some things never change.”

“Apparently not,” muttered Liz. She would be talking to Red about this more later, that was certain.

When the meeting was over, Liz walked with Red back down the stairs. “Do you want to go back to your new apartment, Lizzie?” he asked. “Or would you rather stay here for a while longer? I was planning to head out now, but I can send Dembe back to pick you up later, if you wish.”

Liz didn't have to think long about her answer. “Just give me a minute to say goodbye, and then I'll go with you.” Glad as she genuinely was to have spent some time with her friends, she wasn't ready to linger at her old workplace, with all these changes still fresh and raw. Not yet.

“All right.”

Liz rejoined her friends at the snack table – where, she saw, there were still plenty of cupcakes and other goodies left. In fact, Aram had set several of everything aside for her, in a couple of plastic containers. He handed them to her. “Just in case you, uh, still need some food at your new place,” he said with another smile.

“Thank you, Aram,” she replied, trying not to tear up at the sweetness of the gesture. “I'm sure I'll make good use of it.”

“Speaking of your new place,” said Samar, “do we get to see it, or at least know where it is?”

“I'll tell you the address,” she said, “but, um, please call before you just come over.”

“As long as you also tell us your new phone number,” Samar agreed with a little grin.

Liz's eyes widened. “Oh. Right. I guess that'd be an important first step if I actually want anyone to call me.”

“I can pass your number along to these guys, if you want, Liz,” said Ressler, “and you can just write down your address.”

Samar glanced between the two of them, eyebrows raised. “Yes, that would work just fine, too,” she said in a speculative tone.

Once this was accomplished, Liz said goodbye to them all and left the Post Office with Red. He didn't fail to notice her deep sigh as they left the building. “You all right?”

This question wasn't as easily answered. She pondered it while they got into the car. “I think so,” she said at last. “It was really good to see everyone again, now that I'm not a fugitive, but even just that little amount of time with them, in there, was...”

“Overwhelming?” supplied Reddington, sounding understanding.

“Yeah.” She shook her head. “Which is crazy.”

“Lizzie, I'm sure you know from your studies that feeling overwhelmed by the return of something like 'normal life' after going through a period of intense stress and danger isn't crazy at all.” He took her hand. “It's to be expected, unfortunately. But it will pass.”

After the next evening, Liz wasn't sure she was even going to be allowed to readjust to 'normal life' any time soon. They had just finished her first case as a 'consultant' – and it had really been quite something. Back to the usual, in many ways: Red playing a long game, three steps ahead, getting the task force to do exactly as he wanted to serve his own interests. She understood those interests better now, though, and she knew it would make no sense for her to even pretend that she was angry with him for his deceit. The man impersonating Red had been a new wrinkle, though, for sure. She didn't know how to feel about the fact that Devry had apparently been yet another good friend of Red's who had asked Red to put him out of his misery due to terminal cancer. This was not a trend Liz wanted to see any more of.

At least she didn't have to depend on anyone else for rides, now, she reflected. She had bought a new car the day before, and it was a relief to be able to come and go at will after so long being required to go where someone else – Red, Ressler, the Cabal – wanted her to go. After her chat with Reddington, she swung by one of her old favorite stores to pick up some food and more things to decorate her new place. She noticed a few stares from other customers while she was there, but no one said anything.

On her way out to the car, Liz shifted her shopping bags into one hand. Then she pulled out her phone and called Ressler. “Hey. Is this an okay time to talk?”

“Yeah, it's fine,” he said. “What's up?”

“I was just wondering if you maybe wanted to come over and see my new apartment,” she said. It was absurd for her to be feeling nervous. They had both been to each other's apartments plenty of times before. “We could get takeout, or pizza, or whatever.”

As she was opening her trunk to put away her groceries and other purchases, Ressler said, “Sure. Sounds good. Any good takeout places nearby? I'm not super familiar with that part of town yet.”

Liz smiled a little. “Well, since you're asking, there's--”

Before she could finish the sentence, she heard a man's shout from very close. Far too close. “It's you! You're that woman, that traitor bitch, Elizabeth Keen!” Then he was on her, punching her in the face to knock her to the ground.

The phone fell out of Liz's hands as she gasped and tried to shield herself from the blows. She wasn't armed, and this guy had taken her totally by surprise. She didn't have breath to really cry out as he kicked her repeatedly in the ribs and the gut. At least once, his foot struck her face.

Eventually, he must have decided that was enough. “Fucking terrorist,” he spat, and then hurried away. Liz lay on the ground, trying to inhale and tasting blood. Everything hurt. She blinked, attempting to focus. One of her eyes seemed to be swelling shut.

“Liz. Liz! What happened?”

It was Ressler's voice, coming from the phone on the ground a few feet away. Liz blinked again. He could help. If she could just get to her phone.

She sat up, groaning at the increased pain in her head. Her ex-partner continued to call out her name as she crawled slowly and agonizingly toward the sound of his voice. Finally, her outstretched hand closed over the phone. She pulled it to herself. “Ressler,” she breathed, collapsing back to the ground. Her battered ribs made every breath painful, and being upright had made her dizzy. “I need … help.”

“What happened?!”

“Ambulance,” she gasped, closing her eyes. Blood was dripping down her face. “Trace … the call.”

“You can't tell me where you are?” He sounded very worried.

“Hurts … too much,” she told him. But she did manage to say the name of the store, even so.

“Okay. That's good. Hold on, Liz. I'm on my way – I'll meet the ambulance there.”

Liz put down the phone and faded out after that. She came awake with a start at the sound of approaching sirens, before she reminded herself that A) she had just gotten a severe beating and couldn't run away even if she needed to, and B) she didn't need to. She wasn't a fugitive anymore.

Ressler was there. She saw that, as the EMTs began first aid and loaded her onto a stretcher. Liz alternated between watching him as he took charge of the scene, and struggling to stay conscious. Her head still felt awful, not to mention her ribs. Then suddenly, while she was being lifted into the ambulance, a cramp in her abdomen seized her. She cried out, clutching her arms around herself. That did not make her ribs feel any better, but the action was almost involuntary.

“Ma'am, can you tell me what else is wrong?” one of the EMTs asked, gently trying to move her arms back to her sides.

“My … stomach,” Liz choked out. The cramp was starting to fade. She panted and did her best to relax. There was other wetness on her face now, other than the blood.

“Okay. Can you describe the pain?”

Liz opened the eye that wasn't swollen shut. “Sharp,” she said. “Sudden cramp.” Then another one hit, as the stretcher was set down in the back of the ambulance, and she screamed this time.

When it faded this time, she could hear Ressler yelling at someone, not too far away. “Just get her to the damn hospital already! What the hell are you waiting for?”

“Ressler,” she tried to call out, but her voice was pathetically weak. She coughed. Her ribs complained sharply. The EMTs who were fitting an oxygen line into her nose and inserting an IV tried to soothe her. She was about to call Ressler's name again when he appeared next to her.

“I'm here, Liz.” He looked plainly horrified and outraged at the damage that had been done to her, but he took the hand that didn't have an IV in it. “You're going to be all right. And we'll get the guy who did this.”

The IV must have had painkillers in it, Liz thought, as relief began to spread through her veins. She blinked slowly. “'Kay,” she mumbled. But then the same spasm hit her again, and she gripped Ressler's hand as she moaned. The painkiller was strong, though. Just as she began to feel a new sensation inside her abdomen, where the cramping was happening – it was something that she knew had to be very bad news – the drug pulled her under. Even some alarmed sounding words from the EMTs at her sides couldn't keep her awake.

~~  
Ressler was furious – with himself, with Reddington, with Liz for going out by herself at night (not that she should have to consider that a risk, damn it). Most of all, he was furious with the piece of shit, whoever he was, who had viciously attacked Liz, leaving her so bruised and battered. He was fully aware that if he did know her attacker's identity right now, he would be hard-pressed not to track him down, and then it wouldn't be easy to hold himself back from transforming and ripping out the man's throat, either. Part of him regretted leaving the scene of the attack without having caught more than a very cursory whiff of the attacker's scent. But most of him knew he needed to be focused on Liz. He needed to stay with her, make sure she was going to be fine – and keep her safe. From random civilians now, apparently.

He shifted in the uncomfortable seat in the hospital waiting room. She had been taken to the emergency room upon their arrival, mostly due to the bleeding that had started after she was loaded into the ambulance. Ressler had tried not to panic when Liz had passed out at nearly the same moment. Her heartbeat and breathing had still been strong when they arrived at the hospital, and they had continued to be until she was taken in for examination and he had to stay in the waiting room.

A nurse came out at that moment, calling his name. Ressler stood up quickly.

“You're here for Ms. Keen, isn't that right?” the woman said.

“Yeah. How is she?”

“She's fine, all things considered,” said the nurse. “She's sleeping now. You can come back and see her if you'd like. The doctor's there with her, as well, and he can tell you a little bit more.”

Ressler took a breath at the sight of his former partner. They had taken out the oxygen line from her nose. She actually looked a little better than she had forty-five minutes ago, or however long it had been since they got here – except for the bruises blossoming on her face and jaw. Her eyes were closed, and once again he could hear and see that her vitals were strong.

“Are you Agent Ressler?” said the man in the white coat who was inside her room. “The FBI agent who came in with Ms. Keen?”

“That's me,” said Ressler. “How is she, Doctor –?”

“Jeffries,” said the man. “She's doing pretty well, considering the beating she took. Obviously I can't share much without her consent, but I can promise you her injuries were not life-threatening, and she should recover completely.”

“Good.” Ressler exhaled and rubbed a hand over his face. “That's good to hear.”

“Beyond that,” Dr. Jeffries went on, “I will say she's going to need significant emotional support in the coming days – for a variety of reasons. I trust you'll be able to help see that she gets this.”

He bit his lip, wondering what exactly the doctor was implying. Obviously, anyone would need support after being brutally beaten, but it sounded like he was talking about something more than that. “I'll do everything I can.”

“Glad to hear it.” The doctor glanced at Liz, asleep in her hospital bed. “You're welcome to stay with her, if you'd like.”

Ressler nodded. “Thanks.” He had thought about setting up Bureau protection for her, but it wasn't likely the coward who had jumped her would come looking for her again. And if anyone else had a problem with Elizabeth Keen, they would have to go through him. He wasn't going anywhere.

Dr. Jeffries left the room, promising he would check in before Ms. Keen was discharged. After all, his patient had only been in and out of consciousness since she was brought in, so he would need to discuss her recovery with her, as well. After the doctor left, Ressler's stomach growled. That was a reminder that he had been planning to eat with Liz at her new place before all of this mess. But he was hardly going to leave after pledging silently not to do just that.

His phone rang a second later, just as he sat down in the chair next to Liz's bed. He answered it quickly, hoping it wouldn't disturb her sleep. She didn't react.

It was Reddington. “Donald, what happened to Elizabeth? She's in the hospital – I know that much.”

Not bothering to ask how, Ressler stood up again and took a few steps away from the bed. “She was-- she was attacked on her way home from the store. She happened to be on the phone with me at the time. So I was, uh, able to get to her quickly at least.” He swallowed, remembering the terror of hearing a man's raised voice, then the sounds of blows landing on her, and her cry after every blow struck.

“How is she?”

“Black and blue, but okay other than that,” he said. “They wouldn't tell me much, but she's sleeping now. I'm going to stay here, just in case.”

“Excellent.” There was a muffled sound of conversation between Reddington and Dembe, and then the man came back to the phone. “I'm going to come by shortly. I'll bring dinner, since I have a hunch you haven't eaten yet. No one should be forced to endure hospital food – even you.”

Before Don could even get out a sarcastic thanks for that final comment, the man hung up.

As promised, it was only ten or so more minutes before Reddington and Dembe arrived. Liz still didn't wake, even when there were suddenly three other people in her room with her and one of them was holding takeout boxes that smelled amazing. Don's stomach rumbled again, which made Red smile.

But Red's smile disappeared immediately when he looked at Liz. “Oh, Lizzie,” he said in a low voice, coming to stand closer to her, “I'm so sorry.” He touched her hand for a moment.

The three men ate the Thai takeout together in silence, at first. There was barely enough space in Liz's room, but they managed it. Ressler realized as he took another bite of his pad thai that this was the first time he had eaten a meal with Raymond Reddington – other than a couple of times while stuck in wolf form. It was … not exactly a comforting thought. But on the other hand, he and Red had seen eye-to-eye on caring about Liz for a long time now. If for no other reason, Don could put aside his discomfort and eat with the man in relative peace.

“So, Donald,” said the criminal, a few moments later, “tell me what you know about the circumstances of this attack.”

Ressler took a drink of water. Then, as dispassionately as he could, he related how he'd gotten the call from Liz, then heard the attack happen just minutes later. “The sound was distorted over the phone, especially after she dropped it,” he said, “but I heard a man's voice – and I'm pretty sure I heard him call her 'traitor', among other things.”

Red's gaze went cold. “So, a private citizen who saw her on the news and supposed she needed more punishment than she got, then.” He sighed. “I should have anticipated this.”

“The Bureau – _I_ should have, too,” said Ressler. He echoed Reddington's sigh. “Is her apartment secure?”

“Reasonably so, yes,” said Reddington. “Certainly enough to deter threats of this nature. I've also already had a discussion with the manager of the place, to make sure that prejudice never enters into their dealings with Elizabeth.”

Ressler snorted. He could imagine how that 'discussion' had probably gone.

After a pause, Red spoke again. “Do you know anything further about the man who did this to her?”

Shaking his head, Ressler answered, “Not really. I have local PD checking security cam footage at the store and in the area, but I haven't heard back on whether or not they found anything useful.” He hesitated. If he told Red this next part, he had a hunch the man would find a way to take advantage of the information at a later point. But even if that did end up being true, it was possible Red could think of ways they could both use it to their advantage. Ways that Ressler himself hadn't yet considered. So he went ahead. “I do think I got enough of his scent from the scene to recognize it if I smelled it again.”

Reddington cocked his head and gave a slight smile. “Fascinating. Then you don't leave all of that behind when you leave behind the fur and fangs?”

“No. It's permanent now.”

He thought he'd done all right at keeping the bitterness out of his tone, but from the way Reddington regarded him pensively just then, he guessed not. Either way, Red didn't linger on the subject. “Well, that could be an asset, Donald. And I'm sure Elizabeth will have a description for us when she wakes up.”

“Yeah.”

Red left soon after this, asking to be kept informed about Donald's investigation into Liz's attacker before he went. Ressler went to sit back down next to Liz, letting out a breath. Why hadn't they considered the fact that there would be people who wouldn't believe in her innocence? And that some of those people would decide to take matters into their own hands?

Somehow he must have fallen asleep, despite his dark thoughts. He woke up hours later, at the sound of Liz's voice. When he jerked to awareness, there she was, looking at him in the low light. By this point, both of her eyes could open, although her right one was still partially swollen shut.

“Hey,” he said, concealing a wince as he leaned forward. Sleeping in an uncomfortable chair twice in such short succession was not good for his back. Not that he had anything to complain about in comparison to how sore she would be for the next while.

“Hi,” she said, her voice raspy. Ressler handed her the little cup of water that was by her bed. She drank some, and then said, “How long have I been here?”

Ressler looked at his watch. “Uh, about three and a half hours now. And Reddington came by for a while.”

Liz nodded. She swallowed and said, “Did-- Has the doctor told you anything? I was pretty out of it when I got here.”

“Not really,” he said. “Just that you're going to be just fine, physically. Nothing too serious. But I can go get someone to find him, if you want – he wanted to talk to you once you were awake.”

She thought awhile before answering. Then she said, “Yeah, I-- I think I want to talk to him now. I need to know...” She trailed off.

“Okay,” said Ressler after a moment. He stood up.

He was glad it didn't take long at all to find a nurse outside Liz's room. When he asked the woman if Dr. Jeffries was available to come talk to his patient in room 318, the nurse said she would find him right away and ask. He thanked her and went back into Liz's room.

“A nurse is going to go find him,” he told her, and sat down again. Liz nodded, but didn't speak. Her expression was bleak. Ressler leaned forward. “God, Liz, I'm so--”

“If you're about to apologize, don't,” she cut in, without looking at him. “My safety is not your responsibility anymore. Or it shouldn't be.” She gripped her thin hospital sheet in both bandaged hands. “I should have known better than to think I could really get off easy like I did. Doesn't matter what the government says – I'm still guilty in the court of public opinion.”

“Liz,” he protested, “that's not--”

“It figures,” she continued, glancing at him and then away again. “While I was on the run, even when I felt like I was facing threats and danger at every turn, I was never seriously injured. It's only after I just start thinking I might be able to put my life back together that this happens.”

He couldn't think of a good way to comfort her. It wasn't like he hadn't had a few similar thoughts. “We'll find that guy. And we can make sure this doesn't happen again. We can do that, at least,” he said, knowing it was inadequate.

Liz scoffed. Before she could say anything else, though, there was a knock on the door.

“Ms. Keen, I'm Dr. Jeffries,” said the doctor Ressler had met earlier. “It's good to see you're awake now. How are you feeling?”

Liz turned her attention to him. “Well, considering everything,” she said, “I'm pretty sure I'd be feeling like crap if the painkillers had worn off completely. As it is, I'm feeling okay.”

The doctor looked sympathetic. “Sounds reasonable.” Then he glanced at Ressler. “Ms. Keen, I'd like to go over your chart with you now. Do you want Agent Ressler to be here, or--?”

“I can go wait outside,” said Ressler immediately, standing up.

She didn't answer right away. He had started to head for the door when she said, “No, um, you can stay, Ressler. If you want.”

“You sure?”

She nodded, and so he sat back down.

“All right,” said the doctor, picking up a tablet from one of the bedside tables. “You suffered significant bruising over much of your body – including some that seem to be on top of older bruises on your abdomen.” He looked up questioningly.

It took them both a moment. Then Liz said, “Oh. Right. Yes. That makes sense.” She didn't seem to want to tell Dr. Jeffries that these bruises were from where she had gotten shot while wearing a bulletproof vest. Ressler didn't blame her in the least. “Go on, please.”

The doctor raised an eyebrow, but did so. “You also have three broken ribs, and a few minor lacerations as I'm sure you're aware. Unfortunately, there's not much we can do for those ribs. You basically just have to tough it out while they heal.”

“Yeah, I know the drill,” said Liz with a wry almost-smile. “I've had broken ribs before.”

“Yes, we noticed that in our x-rays,” said Jeffries. “Anyway, the good news is, that's largely the extent of your injuries – no internal bleeding, no serious head trauma, no permanent damage to your eye. But I'm afraid I do have some bad news.”

“Which is?” Her hands were clenched together now in front of her.

“It seems the repeated blows to your abdomen caused a miscarriage,” he said, looking even more sympathetic. “It likely happened right away after the attack. Those cramps you experienced in the ambulance were your body, ah, beginning to deliver the baby. I'm sorry.”

Liz looked stunned, and then her face started to crumple before she clearly forced herself to regain her composure. “Oh. I … I see.”

“There's no rush, but you can let us know what you would like done with the remains,” Dr. Jeffries went on after a moment. “Meanwhile, we'll keep you overnight for observation, to make sure you don't have any complications. And again, I'm so sorry to give you this news.”

She nodded, as tears started to pour down her cheeks. When the doctor left, she was still crying silently.

Ressler was completely speechless. He couldn't imagine, didn't want to imagine what Liz was feeling right now. He was nearly certain she hadn't even known she was pregnant until today – and she had lost the baby the same day. That wasn't even taking into consideration the fact that the man who had most likely been the father was dead. However he had felt about Tom, that was beside the point. As her sobs started to become more audible, Ressler pulled his chair closer and reached out a tentative hand. She seized it. Then she cried until, exhausted, she fell asleep.

~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I felt really bad doing this to Liz! She's already had so many terrible things happen to her, and I wouldn't wish this on anyone - even a fictional character. But I promise I didn't only do this because I dislike Tom. In order to fit this in with what I already have written that will take place after this, the miscarriage needed to happen, unfortunately. Sorry. :(


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll warn again for angst related to the loss of a child.
> 
> ~
> 
> Thanks for continuing to read!

~~  
Somehow it was both a complete shock and exactly what she had been dreading. She had felt those terrible pains inside her in the ambulance, and just as the drug started to draw her down into unconsciousness, she had started to wonder. After she shot Connolly, she and Reddington had been on the move so constantly, she'd barely had any time to consider her own health. It hadn't been strange to think her cycle might have been interrupted by the stress. She had refused to consider any other reasons for the disruption, though if she had allowed herself to be honest, it wasn't like she hadn't known what those symptoms meant. After all, just before everything fell to pieces, there had been that evening with Tom...

Tom. He hadn't known, and now he wouldn't, ever. And she would never know what this child would have been like. Her quiet tears became sobs, even as her ribs protested this. This man who had attacked her tonight had robbed her of her burgeoning feeling of safety, without even knowing he'd also taken away her child. Tom's child.

Liz knew, even as she wept and accepted Ressler's silent comfort, that she would have to deal with all her complicated feelings about Tom eventually. But right now, all she could manage was to grieve their child – the child she had been carrying for three months while barely acknowledging its existence. God. She had put herself in so many terrible, dangerous situations during those months. Maybe this was her fault. She'd been such a terrible mother, she hadn't even allowed herself to notice her child's presence. Maybe this was punishment for that.

Somehow in all this turmoil and grief and pain, she must have dropped off. She slept deeply throughout the rest of the night, with no dreams, which was a relief. But it only took her a few seconds after waking early the next morning to remember what had happened last night.

Taking a slow, ragged breath (which made her ribs twinge), Liz noticed an unfamiliar warm weight next to her leg. She glanced down. It was Ressler. He was asleep, his head pillowed on his arms, on the bed right beside her.

The sight broke her out of her despair for a moment, as she felt a rush of affection for him. He had stayed with her the whole night, even though he had to know there was very little danger of anyone attacking her here. And even though the news she had received must have been a huge shock to him, too. He had stayed with her, just like he had guarded her outside her holding cell before her hearing – and before that, done his best to protect her in the transport and after the crash. She would have been happy to let him sleep more now, since he obviously needed it. But he was going to end up with a sore neck as it was … and plus, she really wanted to be anywhere but here.

“Ressler,” she said, and then cleared her dry throat. “Hey, Ressler, do you think we could get out of here?”

He had woken immediately at the sound of her voice, and sat up with a soft groan. He blinked several times. “Liz. Um. Sorry, what?”

She had to smile. His groggy confusion was kind of adorable. “I said, let's get out of here. All right?”

Awareness and memory dawned on her former partner's face. “All right,” he said. “I'll get a nurse to see if you can be discharged.”

“Thanks,” she said. At least, she noted, her eye could open most of the way now, and her face didn't hurt more when she tried to speak or smile. She didn't look forward to how much pain she was going to be in when she tried to walk, though.

Dr. Jeffries, it turned out, had gone home at the end of his shift. However, he had left a prescription for some fairly heavy-duty painkillers for Liz, as well as some advice on counselors she could contact. When the nurse passed on this message, with compassion in her eyes, Liz's carefully maintained composure cracked. She sniffed and studiously didn't look at either Ressler or the nurse. “Thanks,” she managed. “Um, I … I'd also like the, uh, remains cremated, if that's possible.”

“We can arrange that, ma'am,” said the nurse. “If we could have your contact info...?”

“We'll get that to you,” Ressler put in, speaking up for the first time since the nurse had arrived. “Is there anything else Ms. Keen needs to do before she can go?”

The nurse glanced through her paperwork. “No, I don't think so.” Then she looked at Liz. “Would you like a wheelchair, ma'am?”

Liz was about to dismiss that idea out of hand, but then she tried to sit up without assistance and had to work hard not to scream. “That … might be good,” she admitted breathlessly.

She held onto her pill bottle in her lap while Ressler wheeled her out of the hospital, at about 6:45 that morning. She wasn't sure, now that she thought about it, how Ressler had a car here. He'd been in the ambulance with her. Maybe he'd had someone drop it off at the hospital for him.

“Okay,” said Ressler then, and she looked up to see that they had arrived at his SUV. “This isn't going to be much fun, but you can lean on me if you want to.”

He had a gift for understatement, Liz thought, after the two of them had finally gotten her through the ordeal of climbing into the passenger seat. Everything hurt again. She felt a few tears on her cheeks, which she wiped off and only then re-remembered the bruises on her face.

“I can take you to your apartment,” said Ressler. She could feel his eyes on her, though she was looking straight ahead.

“Yeah,” she said. As he started the car, she added, “This isn't really how I planned it to go, though, when I invited you to come see it.”

“This really wasn't the way I wanted that to go, either,” Ressler said. His tone was utterly serious.

A few times, while they were on the way to her apartment, Liz found her thoughts drifting back to the events of last night. She would start to recall the way it had felt when that man had kicked her, or the pain of her body beginning to expel what had been a living, growing baby. Each time this happened, Liz fought to turn her thoughts away – or ideally, to stop thinking about much at all. It was so much less painful that way.

Once again, it was difficult to get out of Ressler's car when they arrived at her building. She concentrated on these challenges – on getting inside and then getting to the elevator, leaning on Ressler the whole time. She had given Ressler her key already; he could handle interacting with the doorman and anyone else they came in contact with on the way. That left her free to just breathe, as best she could with her sore ribs.

Liz continued to lean on her partner's arm as he unlocked her door. She felt oddly detached from her surroundings – other than the pain of her various injuries – and she didn't mind this at all. When they got inside, she knew Ressler had made some sort of comment about the place, most likely, but she didn't really hear him. She just gave him a vague nod and hobbled to her couch to sit down.

Shutting her eyes, Liz allowed herself to drift into half-sleep as Ressler rustled around in her kitchen. She wasn't really sure what he was doing, but she wasn't curious enough to ask him. She would probably find out soon enough, anyway.

It turned out he had been using this time to prepare her a glass of water, a sandwich, and a little stack of Oreos. He shrugged self-deprecatingly at her bemused look. “Yeah, I know it's not exactly normal for breakfast, but I couldn't find any cereal, so, uh, this is what I came up with that was fast.”

Liz smiled, faint but sincere. “No, that's-- It's fine, Ressler. This is very sweet of you. You really don't have to do all this.”

“I'm not doing it because I feel obligated,” was his response. He set the plate down on the end table next to her, after moving aside a stack of mail and paperwork. He did not touch the pill bottle that was also sharing space on the table, but he did gesture toward it. “Don't forget to take a dose if you need them.”

“Yeah.” Liz reached for the glass of water and took a sip. She wasn't hungry, but she would try to eat. Soon. If only because she probably wasn't supposed to take her medication without food in her stomach.

There was a moment of faintly awkward silence. Then a thought occurred to Liz. “Oh, I-- I still haven't given a description of the guy who attacked me,” she said, setting down the glass.

“You don't have to do that now, if you don't want to. I mean, you could wait until you're feeling better,” said Ressler. But if he were in wolf form right now, she knew his ears would have just pricked up.

“Might as well get it done,” she said. “You can sit down, Ressler.” It meant thinking more about one of the topics she wanted to avoid thinking about. However, she did want this guy found. So she told Ressler that the guy had been tall, fairly slight of build, with short, dark brown hair and brown eyes. She was pretty sure he'd had some facial hair, too. Beyond that, she couldn't recall many details. “I'd definitely recognize him, though,” she finished in a grim tone.

For a moment, there was rage visible on Ressler's face, before he brought himself under control. “I would, too,” he said tightly. “I got enough of his scent while I was at the scene to make sure of that.”

That was an interesting thing to hear, and not something she had been expecting. She decided she would just nod, lacking any other way to respond.

After another period of silence, Ressler stood up. “Okay. Um, I should go get ready for work,” he said. “I'll pass that description on to the local PD, and... Hey, you know you can call me anytime if you need anything, right?”

Something in his voice just then made it difficult for her to swallow back a sudden rush of tears. Liz managed a shaky thanks, and then watched him as he left her apartment. After he was gone, she picked up her unconventional breakfast and started to eat. She was still far from hungry, but she was sort of hoping that her next dose of painkiller would help her go back to sleep. She didn't feel ready to deal with this day yet.

~~  
Liz had been staying at home, recovering, for three days. Obviously her ribs were going to need plenty more time before they were healed, but at least her bruises were looking much better. Her emotional state was still far from healthy, though, Ressler saw whenever he visited. It worried him.

Meanwhile, the Bureau and DC PD were still looking for the man who had attacked her. None of the rest of the team were aware of her miscarriage (Don wasn't about to tell anyone without her permission), but they were all furious that she had been beaten up. Despite their motivation, though, of course it ended up that Reddington was the one who actually located the attacker.

Ressler was on his way out of the Post Office when he got a call. He had barely said “Hello” before Reddington cut in with, “Donald, if you could meet me at my current residence immediately, I'd like to use that nose of yours to confirm the identity of the suspect I have in custody.”

“Where are you?” said Ressler, speeding up his walk to his car. As soon as Red told him the address, he said, “I'll be there in ten minutes.”

Upon his arrival at the farmhouse Reddington had directed him to, Ressler saw Dembe standing on the front steps. “Agent Ressler. He's outside, in the backyard,” the man told him.

Ressler was not surprised that Dembe accompanied him around the side of the house. Nor was he all that surprised to see a man matching Liz's description, bound by his wrists to a chair, trembling, at gunpoint on a tarp on the back porch. There was an expression of sheer terror on his face. Red looked up at their approach.

“Ah, Donald, there you are,” said Reddington, smiling pleasantly as he looked away from the tied-up man for a moment. “I suppose it would be best if you came closer, to make sure whether or not I have the right man. Wouldn't want to decide someone is guilty when in reality they're innocent, after all.” This was said with a hard stare at the guy in the chair, who shuddered even harder.

“How did you--” Ressler started to ask, and then shook his head. “Never mind, I don't want to know.”

“Wise,” commented Reddington. “Now, if you would be so kind?”

Ressler stepped forward. Before he was within a yard of the man, the wind picked up a little, and carried the man's scent toward him. He froze, clenching his fists as rage made it very difficult not to transform right there. Clearing his throat, he took another step closer, glared at the man, and inhaled again. Yes. The scent matched. “This is him,” he reported, in a voice so choked with hatred that he almost didn't recognize it as his own.

“Excellent.” There was no false cheer in Red's voice when he continued, “Thank you, Donald. I think it would be best if you left now, so you don't witness anything you might feel the need to report to your superiors.”

The urge to transform was not lessening. It was increasing, in fact. “Or you could leave now,” Don suggested, again almost not recognizing his own voice. “No need to waste a bullet on this piece of shit.”

There was a pause, and then Don heard Reddington getting closer, though for himself he didn't take his gaze off the terrified man in front of him. “Donald,” said Red, “do you think Elizabeth would be pleased if she heard what you're about to do?”

For a second, the image of how Liz had looked when he had gotten to the site of the attack flashed through Ressler's mind, and he was pretty sure he started to transform. But then the rest of Reddington's words sank in, and he took a deep breath. Red was right, irritatingly enough. He took another deep breath. The heat under his skin faded.

“Good. Now, if you wanted to say something to Mr. Bryant here before you leave, I could be persuaded to wait a few more minutes.”

Ressler nodded, and closed the distance between himself and Bryant, if that was his name. “I'd just like to make sure you know, before you die, that it wasn't brave or patriotic of you to follow a lone, unarmed woman out into the parking lot, at night, and brutally attack her,” he said, not allowing the man to look away. “You don't get to assume you know better than the justice system,” he tried not to let any bitterness show at those words, “or the agents who tracked her down and made sure she survived to see a judge. Maybe you didn't think she got a harsh enough sentence. You have the right to think that, even though you're wrong. But you don't have the right to take away a woman's ability to feel safe – take away something irreplaceable. You don't have the right to put her in the hospital.”

He had to stop himself there. If he spent any more time remembering how devastated Liz had looked when the doctor had told her that news … well, any effort he had put into calming himself down would be wasted, that was for sure. But at least this guy looked ashamed, now, as well as scared.

“All right,” said Reddington. “I think that about covers it. Have a pleasant evening, Donald.”

Scoffing, Ressler gave the doomed Mr. Bryant one more look before he turned and left the yard. As he was getting back into his car, he heard three gunshots, and stopped for a moment. But no, he felt almost no guilt at having let this happen.

He called Liz after he got back to his apartment. It took her quite a number of rings to answer. “Hey,” he said, after her brief hello. “How are you doing?”

“Okay,” she said. “Still sore, but I can move around a little easier today.”

“Good. You need anything?”

“No, thanks. Aram came by a little while ago, and dropped off dinner from his favorite deli, as well as a few novels he recommends. So I'm covered for the evening.” If he weren't listening so carefully, she might have sounded normal. But to his ear, it still sounded like something was off.

“All right.” He frowned, but couldn't think of anything else to say. He wasn't about to try to insist she tell him how she really was feeling – or at least, he definitely wasn't going to try that over the phone, anyway. “Well, good night, Liz.”

“Good night.” She ended the call.

Ressler sighed and set down his phone. It wasn't as if it would be strange for Liz to be sinking into depression, or close to it, after everything she'd been through. Especially for her to have lost a child that she hadn't even known about (not that knowing about it would have made it better).

The issue of his former partner's mental state weighed on him as he tried to settle down for the evening. She was all alone at her apartment, aside from when her friends came to visit. That was, unfortunately, pretty much required right now, as she rested and let her ribs heal. But sitting around in near isolation at this point in her life just couldn't be good. He knew that, from his own personal experience.

Finally, at eight thirty, Ressler sent Liz a text: _I'm coming over. Need to talk to you, if you're not sleeping already._

It took a few minutes, and then she sent a reply: _Fine. Door will be unlocked when you come up._

Well, at least she hadn't refused, though that wasn't exactly an enthusiastic welcome. Ressler headed over to her place, trying to organize his thoughts on the way.

Liz was, in fact, seated on her couch when he opened her door and came in. He was heartened again at how faded the bruises on her face were. That was a good thing.

“Hey,” he said, closing the door behind her.

“Hi,” said Liz, raising her eyes to his. “What's going on?”

“I'm worried about you.” There was no point beating around the bush.

Liz blinked and cocked an eyebrow. “I'm healing fine, Ressler. Slowly but surely.”

“I'm not talking about your physical injuries, though I'm very glad to hear that.” He sighed. “Can I sit?”

“If you want,” she said, scooting over with a slight wince. As he sat down at the other end of the couch, she bit her lip for a moment. “So what are you worried about, then?”

“I just think that...” Then he trailed off, rubbed a hand over his face, and decided to change how he would go about this. “Okay, let me start over. I don't know if I ever told you – I don't think I did – when exactly I started using.”

That got her attention. She turned to face him. “No. You didn't,” she confirmed in a soft voice. “But I guessed it was after Audrey.”

Ressler nodded. “It was. I, uh...” He took a breath. “I know for sure I never told you that I found an open box of pregnancy tests in her stuff after she died. She must have thought she could be – but there's no way for me to know whether she was or not, short of an autopsy. And even if I had the right to ask for one, I'm not sure I want to know.”

Liz's eyes were wide. “God, Ressler,” she whispered, “I'm so sorry.”

Nodding again, he stared across the room, only vaguely seeing the stack of boxes that Liz hadn't unpacked. The urge to numb the pain with a pill was still there, of course – but it didn't control him. He hadn't neglected going to meetings, as often as he needed them. “Anyway, I'm telling you this because I did a really terrible job at handling losing Audrey and-- and the possibility of a child with her,” he said, meeting her gaze. “I shut everyone else out, and I got myself addicted to pills. And now you're dealing with … God, so much more shit than that. And I know you're strong, but anyone would be struggling with all of this.”

While he was talking, Liz looked away and sniffed. She reached for a tissue from the box on top of a stack of get well cards and papers on her end table. “I haven't really been dealing with it,” she admitted, after a moment. “I've just been trying my hardest not to think about it, any of it.”

Ressler just nodded again. “Well, you can do that, for a while,” he told her. “But it will all come back at some point, unless you really--” He stopped himself and shook his head. “You don't need me to tell you that. You're the psychologist. Sorry.”

Liz didn't speak again right away. Instead, she wiped her face with the tissue and looked down at her hands in her lap. Then she took a shuddering breath. “Tom is dead,” she said, “and my baby's dead – and both of them are my fault!” With that, she started to cry again, in earnest.

“No, Liz,” said Ressler, quickly going to her side and – gingerly, so as not to hurt her ribs – taking her into his arms. “Tom made his choice. You couldn't have stopped him. And as for the loss of your baby, the only person who is to blame for that is the man who attacked you.” He knew his voice was not concealing his continued fury at this event.

“But if I hadn't-- if I hadn't killed Connolly...” she sobbed. “If I hadn't gone on the run … in the first place...”

He ran a hand down her back. “If you're going to start going down that road, then I have to join in and say that I should have found a way to protect you right after you were first framed, so you didn't have to run. And if I couldn't do that, I should have at least thought about how ignorant scum like that guy in the parking lot might react to you after your exoneration. I should have brought it up with you, so you and I could make plans for a situation like that.”

She took in some unsteady breaths, and pulled away a bit. “Ressler, you sound like you actually believe those things,” she said, blinking and wiping more tears off her face.

“So did you, when you said what you said,” he pointed out. “Maybe we can both try to agree that those aren't very healthy ideas to dwell on.”

“I guess we should try,” she said. Then she yawned.

“Well, I don't want to stick around while you could be resting,” Don said, after a short pause. “But, uh, like I said before, Liz, you can call me anytime if you need something. All right?”

“Yeah.” Liz sniffed again, and made to stand up as he did.

“Whoa, whoa.” Ressler held out a hand, stopping her, and gave her a wry smile. “I already made you cry this evening. Don't hurt your ribs anymore on my account. I'll lock the door on my way out.”

Now she was looking up at him with an open, unguarded expression that made his breath catch. “Thank you.”

Knowing she wasn't just talking about him locking her door, Ressler smiled again, more sincerely. He hadn't been at all sure how this was going to go, but he thought it had gone all right. “Good night, Liz. Sleep well.”

~~  
The door had barely closed behind Ressler when Liz's phone rang. Sighing, Liz fished around on the end table and finally found it, knocking a few papers onto the floor in the process.

It was Red. “Lizzie, how are you feeling?”

“Okay,” she answered. That wasn't going to be enough to reassure him, but it was about all she could manage right now, even after her former partner's visit.

“I know you just had a visit from Donald, but would you mind terribly if I came up for a few minutes?” he asked. “I promise I'm not planning to stay long. You need your rest. It's just that I have something for you.”

Liz couldn't help an immediate half-suspicious, half-intrigued reaction. Red's gifts were always memorable, at the very least. “Fine,” she said. “But since I'm guessing you're right outside the building, you should know that it might take me until you get here to get up and open the door.”

“Don't trouble yourself, please, Lizzie,” said Reddington. “I took the liberty of procuring an extra key – for emergencies only, of course.”

Scoffing, Liz leaned back against the couch cushion. “I don't think I want to know how you accomplished that. Anyway, come on up.” It wasn't like she could do much to stop him, even if she really wanted to.

A few minutes later, she heard the sound of her lock turning. Red entered the apartment, followed closely by Dembe. Red took off his hat and put it on her kitchen counter. “Good evening, Lizzie,” he said with a smile. “Can I get you anything while I'm up?”

“No, but I want to see what you brought me,” she replied, with a faint smile in return.

“There are two things, actually,” he told her. He glanced behind himself, where Dembe was. “The first one is a key lime pie from my favorite pie shop in Key West, which Dembe will put in the fridge for you.” Indeed, Dembe was already moving through into the kitchen, after giving Liz a nod and a smile.

“Thank you, Dembe,” said Liz. “And thanks, Red. That sounds good.”

He nodded to her and took a few more steps closer. “May I sit down? The next item will need a little more explanation and discussion – and I'm afraid it's quite the opposite of delectable, unlike the pie.”

She raised an eyebrow, but said, “Have a seat.”

Reddington sat down next to her and took an envelope out of his coat pocket. “I drew this up shortly after your first night in the hospital,” he said quietly as he handed it to her. “If it's something you would like to make use of, all it needs is your signature.”

It only took a few seconds after she had begun to read the document that was inside the envelope for Liz to feel a sob threatening again. Her throat grew constricted. She blinked to clear her vision, and allowed a few tears to flow down her face as she kept reading. It took her a while to be able to speak. The paper was a deed for a specific, very small plot of land in a cemetery – a cemetery whose name she recognized. “This is … this is right next to where Sam is buried, isn't it?”

“Yes,” said Red. When she looked up from the deed, his face was solemn, not to say sorrowful. “The choice of how you would mark the space – or not mark it – is, of course, yours.”

Liz swallowed. “You knew? You knew I was pregnant, and that I lost...?”

“Yes,” he said again. “It wasn't difficult to observe the changes in you: your body, your skin, incidents of nausea and mood swings. And then when I saw you in the hospital...” He shook his head. “I'm so very sorry, Lizzie.”

Once again it took great effort to not give into her tears. “But you hated Tom,” she said, looking down at the paper again. As Red had said, all that was left looked to be the space where she could sign her name to finalize it.

A muscle twitched in his face, just slightly. “I don't believe the sins of the fathers should be visited on their children, Lizzie,” he said. “The loss of any child is a terrible tragedy. This child – your child – deserved at very least to have _you_ decide how you wanted to deal with his or her existence.”

She was unable to speak for another minute. The pain of her loss was all too easy to allow herself to feel. That was all on top of her lingering, ambivalent feelings toward the man she had known as Tom, who had been buried under his birth name in a grave she had yet to visit. But before she gave in and started to cry again, she had more she wanted to say. “I, uh...” She cleared her throat. Then she found a pen and signed her name on the paper. First things first. “Thank you.”

He didn't say anything, although he did rest a hand on hers.

“I wonder if I could ask you for a favor,” Liz said, after a pause. After Ressler's visit, she knew there was something else she needed to do. She couldn't ask Ressler for this, though.

Red tilted his head at her. “I would be delighted if you did, Lizzie.”

She glanced at him, and then once again dug through the papers gathered on her end table until she found the information Dr. Jeffries had left for her. “I think I need to talk to … someone, about this,” she said. “I guess the Bureau therapist isn't really an option anymore, and I need to know whoever I go to won't start out with the assumption that I'm a murderer or a terrorist.”

“Would you like me to check into these people for you, then?” he asked without a hint of judgment, taking the list of names from her. “I also have some names of my own I could recommend--”

“Whatever,” she cut in. She dropped her gaze to her lap. “I just-- I need to know they'll talk to me without prejudging me.” That was supposed to go without saying for any therapist worth his or her salt, but she wasn't feeling very trusting of the way things were supposed to be right now.

After another period of silence, Reddington said, “All right. I can check into these names, consider any I might wish to add, and tell you a bit about all of the best candidates. Then I can take you to visit whichever of them sound promising to you, for a screening appointment, and you can go from there. How does that sound?”

“Okay.” She wasn't so sure she wanted or needed Reddington to be in charge of taking her to these appointments, but she would see how she felt when they reached that point. She did know she could rely on his judgment in finding someone trustworthy. Of that, she had no doubt.

“Then I'll get back to you soon with my list.” Red stood up, gently taking the envelope with the deed back from her. “And once you're feeling up to traveling, we can plan a trip to Nebraska, as well.”

Liz felt her eyes well up again as she nodded. The heavy weight of grief hadn't disappeared, not that she had thought it would. But she thought she might see a way through it, at least.

~


	6. Chapter 6

~  
A week passed. Liz found a therapist that she felt safe talking to, with some assistance from Red. However, she insisted she would be transporting herself, after the initial appointment to see what this doctor was like. She did still have some lingering fears about being recognized while she was out by herself – but for that exact reason, she knew she needed to confront it head-on. Still, she was willing to accept the gun Red brought for her. It was a violation of her parole, but she refused to be caught unarmed ever again. She only hoped Ressler would understand that if he found out.

By the end of that week, she was mobile enough that staying in her apartment by herself any longer was intolerable. So she went in to the Post Office. It was still strange, not being able to participate as a field agent in the case Reddington had just brought. But it felt good to be up and around, and to be contributing to the task force again.

At the end of the day, as she was preparing to head out of the black site, Liz caught a glimpse of her reflection in a window. She frowned. It was all well and good that her bruises had healed. But she was beyond tired of the blonde dye job. A change would do her good.

And in fact, after she left the salon with her hair back to pretty much just the way it had looked before this whole mess, she felt lightened. More like herself, too. Maybe she couldn't be an agent anymore, but she didn't have to hide her identity, either.

~~  
Ressler thought it was probably good that the first time he saw Liz after she got rid of the blonde hair, dying it back much closer to its natural shade of brown and cutting it short to frame her face, was at work. If he had seen her at her apartment, or somewhere else without an audience, it might have been harder for him to temper his reaction. As it was, he was sure he still stared for longer than was professionally appropriate. He was pretty sure she had noticed, too.

But if so, she didn't call him on it. He was happy to let Samar be the one who commented on it first. “Looking good, Liz,” she said with a smile. “Not that you need my approval, but I approve.”

“Thanks,” said Liz, with an answering smile. “It felt like it was time.”

“Past time,” Ressler muttered.

At that, Liz shot him a look, one eyebrow raised. “Hey, I heard that, you know.”

He just shrugged and smiled. “It suits you better this way, is all.”

“Well, thanks. I think.”

The latest case left him with mixed feelings. It was good to have Liz back in the field, even in a very limited role. It was much less enjoyable to have to interact with this guy Tucker from DEA, who seemed to have an axe to grind against her. Ressler came close to losing his temper when the man decided to call Liz “Comrade Rostova”, repeatedly. It was obvious that it hurt Liz. Only the fact that Liz herself kept her cool kept him in check. There was also the realization that this kind of attitude was going to be something she had to face for a while, he guessed. She needed to be able to respond to it without his interference. Even though part of him really wanted to make Tucker see reason – or force him to apologize, whether he saw reason or not.

In the end, thought they were able to round up a number of the surviving members of the two crime families Reddington's Blacklister had been trying to unite, it wasn't without the loss of a number of agents – including Tucker. And of course it ended up that Reddington had brought the case to their attention mainly so he could get Pitt for himself. Not that he bothered to explain why.

“Any idea why Reddington snatched our Blacklister this time?” he asked Liz, when she arrived back at the Post Office.

She shook her head. “He wouldn't say – but I get the strong impression no one else will be using Pitt's services in the future.”

“Right.” Ressler wasn't overly surprised to hear it. “Wonder who gets to inherit those ridiculous lap dogs, in that case?”

Liz elbowed him. “They were cute!”

“Don't tell me you're going to lobby for that privilege,” he groaned, rubbing his arm. “Isn't one little yap dog enough for you?” She had just gotten her old dog back from the woman who had been her and Tom's friend, back when they lived at their old apartment. Ellie, he thought her name was. He was pretty sure that the dog had been all right with him before his run-in with Dr. Cameron, but now it hated him. It wasn't too surprising, he supposed, that he might be considered a threat now.

“What – are you worried you'll be mobbed by a pack of tiny, angry dogs whenever you come by?” At his glare, she laughed. “Don't worry, Ressler. I don't want an apartment full of pets. Hudson is enough.”

“Good.” Then as they both headed toward his office, a thought struck him. “Oh, God. _Please_ don't tell me Reddington's going to keep them, instead.” All he needed was more ways the man could be sure their interactions were maximally insufferable for him.

“I doubt it,” Liz said. “Did I ever tell you I found out he has a cat?”

That was not something he had expected to hear. “Huh. No, I don't think you did.” The idea of Raymond Reddington owning any kind of pet on a long-term basis was odd to imagine.

“I guess if you ever happen to meet it, we'll find out if it's as suspicious of you as Hudson is,” she went on, with a gleam in her eye.

“Somehow, I think I'd rather live with the suspense of not knowing,” was his response.

Although Liz seemed to be doing okay in general, Ressler was still annoyed and bordering on angry with Reddington when he had her bring the task force a case about missing, unwanted children. To him, it seemed the height of insensitivity. But when he brought it up at the hospital, after her initial meeting with Ethan, Liz shook her head.

“I appreciate your concern,” she said, with a little smile, “but he was really, genuinely apologetic about the timing when he told me about this case this morning. I don't think he would have chosen to pursue it right now at all, except for the timing of Ethan's reappearance.”

Turning his gaze back through the window to the kid in the hospital bed, Ressler nodded. If he was fair, that sounded like a reasonable enough explanation. And it wasn't like the goal of finding a bunch of missing kids was anything but urgent. Stopping whoever was taking them was just as urgent.

He was frankly surprised that the woman from Social Services allowed Liz to be Ethan's temporary guardian, given her record (not that he would ever have told Liz that). But he wasn't displeased by any means. He knew she was great with kids. Under other circumstances, he wouldn't have minded spending more time with the boy, himself. But as much as he missed having Liz at his side in the field, the fact that she wasn't his partner did mean she was able to look after Ethan.

Ressler had cause to regret the fact that he wasn't Liz's partner anymore when Aram informed him tensely that Noah Shuster knew who Ethan's temporary guardian was. He thought he might have set a new land speed record as he rushed to Liz's apartment. It was certainly true that he got there before the officers that he had ordered Aram to send.

When he finally got there, he dashed upstairs as fast as he could. To his faint relief, the door to her apartment was shut. That was probably a sign that things weren't too bad – maybe? “Keen!” he called out, pounding on the door. “Keen, are you all right?”

A few seconds passed. Panting, listening as hard as he could, he was about to kick in her door when he heard her coming closer. The door unlocked. “I'm fine, Ressler. We're both fine,” Liz said as she opened it. She looked drained. “Turns out Reddington has a guard stationed on this floor, and that guard came in right after Shuster forced his way in. So Reddington has Shuster now, and Ethan is all right.” She pointed to her dining table, which looked to have been converted into a blanket fort for the boy in question.

Ressler took a deep breath, still looking her over as well as glancing toward where Ethan was hidden. He could hear the kid's regular breaths and heartbeat. “You're both all right.”

“Ethan was terrified, but he seems okay now,” said Liz. She shrugged, and then winced. “And other than getting shoved into that lovely, decorative stack of boxes over there, I promise I'm fine.”

“Good.” Holstering his weapon, Ressler blinked as he processed the rest of what she'd told him. “Wait. Reddington hired someone to guard you, twenty-four seven, and that guy took Shuster?”

“Yep.” She now had a very familiar expression of resignation on her face – the one he usually saw when she decided it wasn't worth the effort to be frustrated at Reddington's actions. “Anyway, I'm sure he's going to interrogate Shuster to find this City of Lost Children. No idea if he'll deign to share that location with the rest of us, or not.”

After he called to update Aram on the situation, he put his phone away and turned back to Liz. “I'm sorry, by the way,” he told her. “We can't give a good explanation for how Shuster was allowed to access Ethan's information. This shouldn't have happened.”

“You're right,” she agreed, “but I'm hardly going to blame you for that man's actions. And at least between me and the guard Reddington had assigned to me, Ethan wasn't hurt. I just hope he hasn't been too traumatized by all of this.”

“Yeah.” Don followed her gaze to the kid's blanket fort. Whatever happened with the rest of this case, they were going to do their best to make sure Ethan ended up somewhere he would be loved and cared for – not discarded. He couldn't imagine how a parent could ever abandon his or her own child like Ethan's parents apparently had tried to do. If he ever had kids – but no, it was best not to pursue that line of thought. He had already decided: since his condition was heritable, that was never going to happen.

~  
That evening, Ressler was about to sit down to his pizza dinner. The case had been a difficult one, even with the very positive result of finding many of the missing kids at the old schoolhouse where Lady Ambrosia had been keeping them, and returning Ethan to the father who truly cared about him. Seeing Ethan's reunion with his dad had stirred up some of his old grief at that particular loss. That was all on top of his newer, still sharp grief at the opportunity he had lost for his future. As he reached for the pizza box, there was a knock on his door. Frowning, he stood up and crossed the room to it. When he looked through the peephole and saw Liz (not to mention catching her scent), he opened the door quickly. “Hey.”

“Hi.” She sniffled, and he saw that her eyes were reddened. “Can I come in?”

“Yeah, of course.” He stood aside to let her in. It was obvious she wasn't okay, so he decided not to ask that question. Maybe he could encourage her to tell him about it, though. “I, uh, I was just about to eat dinner – do you want any?”

“Oh.” She looked at the pizza box on his table. “Sorry. I-- I should've called first.”

“It's fine, Liz,” he said. “I'm happy to share if you're hungry.”

She bit her lip, and then nodded. “Okay. I'll take a slice. Thanks.”

Ressler grabbed another plate for her, served their food, and then gestured between the little dining room table and the couch, wordlessly asking her preference. In answer she smiled faintly and sat down on the couch.

Setting down her plate in front of her on the coffee table, he asked, “Beer?”

“Yes, please.”

Once he'd gotten them their beverages and sat down on the couch, not too close to her, he said, “So do you want to eat first and then talk about whatever it is that's bothering you?”

“Could we?” she said. “Otherwise I might not end up being able to eat.”

He nodded, and turned on the TV. For some time, they ate in companionable silence, while what he thought was probably a James Bond movie played on the screen. Liz got herself another slice, and he got himself two. Once they had finished eating, they continued to watch the movie at first. Ressler could tell she wasn't really paying attention to it, though – and as his concern grew about how upset she was, he couldn't really pretend to focus on the ridiculous plot, either.

Finally, when the old guy on the screen started to tell Judi Dench some of Bond's tragic personal history, Liz sat up, took a sharp breath, and grabbed the remote, turning off the TV. At Ressler's look, she shrugged and gave an uncomfortable smile. “Sorry. But you weren't really interested in keeping watching, either, were you?”

“Not really.” He cleared his throat. “Are you going to tell me what's wrong now?”

She sighed and rubbed a hand over her face. “I had a conversation with Reddington today, about my … my parents,” she said. “About why my mother gave me up. I couldn't help thinking about it, what with what happened with the case.”

“Oh.” That had not been what he was expecting to hear. He'd never really had the chance to talk to her about her biological parents, especially not after the bombshell revelation that she was the daughter of Katerina Rostova. He wondered now just how much she knew about them.

“He still hasn't told me my father's name,” Liz went on, expression bleak, “but today he said, he said my father took me away from my mother when the Soviet Union started to collapse. She followed him here, to the US. She wanted us all to be together again. And then he … was killed, and then she couldn't handle that loss, so she killed herself. She left me behind. Reddington said she loved me, but I guess it wasn't enough for her to stay with me.”

By the time she finished, her voice was wavering and she was staring down at her hands in her lap.

Don was all but at a loss for words. He had guessed her parents' story must not have been a happy one, but this... He swallowed past the lump in his throat. He could only begin to imagine how painful this revelation must be for her. “God, I'm sorry, Liz.”

She nodded once, and with a scoff added, “I'm sorry I asked him about it. Maybe it would have been better for me to just hold onto my childish dreams about my parents' story.”

His heart ached at the pain in her words. “Obviously I don't-- we don't know the whole story,” he said, “but I can't think of anything that would help me understand why anyone would do that to their kid. You were, what, three? Four?”

“I was four when Sam took me in,” she replied. She took a shuddering breath. “But I know exactly why she-- why my mother did it.”

“What?” Don raised his eyebrows.

When she looked at him then, the heartbreak and fear in her expression knocked the breath from his lungs. She shook her head.

“Liz.” It was like she was afraid of him, but that didn't make any sense. And yet he could hear how her heart rate was speeding up. He kept his voice quiet. “What are you scared of? You know I'm not going to hurt you, right?”

“But I'm going to hurt you, if I tell you,” she said, glancing at him and then away. “But it's not fair for me not to tell you.”

Now he was completely perplexed. What the hell could she think was so terrible that she had done when she was a little girl, to drive her mother away, and to drive him away decades after whatever it was had happened?

She licked her lips, and stared fixedly at the floor. “Do you remember when you found me and Reddington, after Braxton took me?”

Ressler blinked. “Of course.” He wasn't likely to forget that eerie place, how Reddington had been right in his partner's face, while she was drugged and vulnerable. How she had leaned against him, utterly spent, on the way out. Neither of them had ever given him a full explanation of just what had gone on. Liz had only told him Braxton had thought she knew something, a piece of blackmail that was extremely valuable. Reddington had told him nothing whatsoever. Ressler had observed how furious Liz was with the criminal afterward, however. That had been obvious.

“He was trying to access a memory, one that Reddington had tried to make sure I never remembered,” she said. “I don't know how Red did it back then. But it worked well enough that no matter what Braxton and that doctor did, all I remembered was that Red took me out of the house the night of the fire that gave me this--” she turned over her right wrist, revealing the scar, “and left my father to burn. Or at least that's what I thought I saw in my memories.”

“My God,” breathed Ressler. “So Reddington killed--”

“No,” she cut in. Then her face crumpled. “I did. I shot him,” she gasped out, and started to sob.

It took him several seconds to comprehend what he had just heard. She had shot her father … when she was all of four years old? How could this have happened? How could her parents have allowed this to happen? As he tried to process this, she cried, her face in her hands. A realization struck him then. She had been afraid – afraid to tell him this. Afraid of his reaction.

At that thought, Ressler moved closer to her and laid a hand on her shoulder. “Liz, if you did this when you were a child, then it wasn't your fault. The law says that, and even if it didn't, I would believe that. Anyone would believe that.”

She looked up, still breathing raggedly, and shook her head. “I've been … a killer almost my whole life,” she said between sobs. “I'm not … a good person.”

“That's not true!” He didn't move his hand away from her arm. “Liz, you—”

“I took a gun … and I killed my own father,” she insisted. “And then that … made my mother … commit suicide.” She took a few seconds to breathe, then laughed bitterly. “No wonder I ended up a felon.”

It still hurt to hear that word applied to her – and it hurt even more to hear her apply it to herself in such a defeated, despairing way. He passed his tissue box to her, and then after she had wiped her face, he spoke. “The fact that you committed a felony does not define who you are, Liz. Neither do terrible things that happened to you when you were a child.”

She scoffed. “Terrible things that I _did_ , you mean.”

“Are you telling me that you, a four-year-old girl, picked up a gun and shot your father because you truly wanted him dead?”

Leaning back against the couch cushions, she shook her head. “He was hurting my mother. I-- I wanted him to stop.”

Ressler closed his eyes for a moment. _God._ The more he learned, the more his heart broke for her. But now he knew what to say. “ _That's_ who you are, Liz,” he said firmly. “You always want to help people, protect them, fight for them. From what Cooper said, that's why you shot Connolly, too. Obviously I wish you'd made a better choice there, that you could have found another way to stop him. And I really wish there hadn't been a gun there for you to use to stop your dad from hurting your mom. But that urge to stand up against people who are hurting others, or threatening others? That's you. And if that doesn't show that you're a good person, then I don't know what does.”

Liz had turned to stare at him when he started speaking, and now he could see tears welling up in her eyes again. Sniffing, she pulled out another tissue and wiped them away. “Well,” she said, giving him a watery smile, “thank you, Ressler. I don't even know what else to say.”

He returned the smile. “You don't have to say anything.”

“I want to, though,” she replied. “Just give me a minute.” She took another deep breath, and a few seconds passed. Then she said, “The fact that you would say that about me means a lot, Ressler – because you're one of the best people I know.”

It was his turn to be speechless. He must have looked as stunned as he felt, because she smiled again, wider. Then she took his hand. 

There was a short pause. Ressler squeezed her hand and released it before standing up. That was more than enough deep, painful exploration of traumas for one evening. “Well, I don't know about you, but I could use another drink.”

Liz agreed that sounded good. When he came back with another beer for each of them, she took hers, twisted off the top, and said, “So now that you know just about as much about my parents as I know, can I ask what your parents are like, Ressler? I've heard you mention them, but not much beyond that. Are they retired? What did they do for a living?”

He took a swallow from his own bottle. “I guess we never really have gotten around to that topic, have we?” he mused. Not that he had been hiding anything from her, but he supposed she really wouldn't know much about his parents from anything he'd told her. “My dad was a cop. He was killed in the line of duty when I was still a kid. My mom stayed at home until then, and she became a teacher after that.”

They kept on talking for a long while. Don found it easier than he'd thought he might to reminisce and share stories about his family life with Liz. For her part, Liz seemed happy to tell him about growing up with Sam, too. He was glad to learn that her growing-up years with him had been good ones, despite the traumatic events surrounding her birth parents that Reddington had apparently done his best to make her forget.

Their conversation continued to flow, easy and natural. He had missed this – just spending time with her, no case, no life-threatening situations. It had been months. Maybe since her birthday. It was a relief to be back on this footing with her.

During a lull in their conversation, he happened to glance at his watch and see that it was past nine. He stood up then, gathering her plate as well as his. “Well, I'll take care of these, and then I can grab your coat if you want. It's getting late.”

“Oh, I get it. I see how it is, Ressler,” she called after him, teasing, as he walked toward the kitchen. “You trying to kick me out now?”

“Not at all,” he called back, as he set their dishes in the sink. “Just letting you know you can call it a night if you want to.”

She didn't reply until he had come back to stand in the doorway of the living room. She was sitting up, looking at him, and the expression on her face was not one that he'd ever seen her wear before. “And what if I don't want to call it a night?” she asked quietly.

The mood had shifted, all of a sudden. It wasn't something Ressler had been expecting tonight, and when he realized it, part of him was happier and more hopeful than he'd been in a very long time. Even though he knew...

She crossed from his couch to where he was standing. When he stayed put, she got even closer, and looked directly into his eyes. “I've been waiting to do this for a while now,” she said, and then took his face in her hands and kissed him.

For some unknown amount of time, Ressler was totally lost in these sensations. He'd waited so long for this, just like she said... It took all of his strength to pull away from the kiss. Based on the disappointed sound she made, Liz wasn't a fan of stopping it, either. “What?” she breathed, reaching for him. “What's wrong, Ressler?”

His breaths were ragged, and he could feel his heart pounding. When he looked at her, all he wanted was to close the short (far too huge) distance between them again, but he couldn't let himself. He had to tell her. “I can't.”

Liz dropped her hands to her sides. “You can't?” She swallowed and looked down. “I-- I thought you wanted this. Wanted _us_.”

“I do,” he said quickly. “God, I do, more than anything. But Liz... I also want this to last. I want it all. And I don't want to keep you from any of it.”

Now she looked confused. “That's what I want, too,” she said, reaching out for his hand and taking it. “And of course you won't.”

Ressler let her hold his hand, but couldn't meet her eyes. This was worse, so much worse, than when he had first heard the news in Dr. Maynard's lab.

“Ressler. Seriously. Tell me what's wrong.”

He sighed. “This thing that I have, this _condition_ ,” he began, and then managed to raise his eyes to hers. “It's … part of me now. It's heritable.”

It took a moment, and then he saw understanding dawn in her wide eyes. Then her expression softened. “Oh.”

“I know you're probably not going to be thinking about having kids for a while, but I have to consider the possibility. And I can't do that to any kid of mine,” he said, once again feeling the grief of this future loss. “I mean, who knows what the hell would happen to someone who had to grow up with this mutation? Not to mention what it could do to-- to the kid's mother while she was pregnant.”

“You've thought about this a lot, haven't you?” she asked, after a pause.

He nodded. “I've had a lot of time to think about it.” She wasn't angry, at least.

“Well,” she said, taking a step closer and laying her hand on the side of his face, “as conscientious and admirable as I find that, I think you might be _over_ thinking it a little bit right now.”

“What?” Ressler would readily acknowledge that he was distracted by the feel of her hand on his face, but that still didn't explain her words.

“We can be careful,” she told him. “Like you said, I'm not ready to try for kids right away. But when I get there, you know I've always wanted to adopt. I guess that process would have to be a lot harder now that I've got a record, but it's still possible.”

He stared at her, feeling his heart lighten more than he would have thought possible. “Really? You'd really be okay with that?”

“Yes,” she said without hesitation. “And I'm on the pill at the moment – so why don't we just … see where the evening takes us?”

Ressler couldn't help smirking at that. It wasn't like there was very much doubt as to where they were headed, if they started up again. But he wasn't ready to let go of all of his concerns quite yet. “I like the sound of that,” he told her, pushing a lock of her brunette hair behind her ear. “But I just want to be sure: if something happens, even though we're careful, and--”

“If I still end up getting pregnant at some point,” Liz cut in, gently but firmly, “then we'll figure it out. Together. All right?”

He searched her face. She seemed sincere, and not hesitant. “All right.”

“Good.” She smiled, and pulled him in for another deep, intense kiss. This time, Ressler didn't even think about pulling away.

~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for being patient with the long break before posting this chapter! I felt like I needed more than one episode's worth of material gleaned from the show before I had enough to reach this particular destination. :)
> 
> Also, sorry for Ressler's Hudson comments. It's canon now that Ressler hates little dogs, so unfortunately this seems like how that would have to play out. Heh.


	7. Chapter 7

~~  
Liz found herself smiling as she watched Ressler turn over next to her and sigh in his sleep. Last night had been wonderful. And afterward, they had slept in the same bed together for the first time while both of them were human. Oddly enough, being able to sleep in his arms was much more satisfying than sharing the same sleeping area with him while he was transformed. This was true for both of them, she assumed.

She reflected on the previous day. Throughout the course of the day, she had gone from wistful with a tinge (okay, a fair amount) of grief as she thought about her own lost child, to tentative happiness as she formed a bit of a bond with Ethan, to mingled relief, joy, and sadness when she and Ressler were able to reunite him with his father.

Along with all of that, there had been the soul-shattering revelation from Red that she had been responsible for both of her parents' deaths. She had pushed for real answers from him, but this had been worse than she had ever imagined. Even if the case hadn't called her away after that, Liz was pretty sure she wouldn't have wanted to stick around and receive whatever comfort Red could have tried to give her. It was too much.

Instead, she had shoved it aside as best she could for the rest of the day. It was only when she got home and saw the blankets still spread over her table that she had let herself start to try to face this. It had not gone well. This was not something she could handle by herself, she found quickly.

So she had come running to her ex-partner. She needed to have someone else to share this awful secret with, besides Reddington, the man who knew all the details but still tried to protect her by keeping so much of it back. So even though she was sure Ressler would reject her this time, for good, she had resolved to tell him. At least that way she would know she had been honest with him in the end.

Next to her, Ressler sighed, still sleeping peacefully. Liz smiled again, wondering. He hadn't rejected her. He had been horrified at her story of what had happened to her birth parents, but he had refused to let her assume the blame, or use it as proof of her nature. To have this man, whose integrity she trusted without a doubt, insist that she was a good person … it still made her almost tear up to remember. She would do her best to believe him.

Just then, as she watched, the relaxed expression on Ressler's face started to change. His brow furrowed, and he started to breathe faster. He was on his back. Whatever he was dreaming about must be plenty terrible, Liz thought; she could see how his fists clenched and then, to her shock and dismay, he trembled all over.

“Ressler,” she said, sitting up halfway. “Ressler, wake up. You're dreaming.”

He didn't seem to hear her. His breathing became more labored, and he grimaced as if in great pain.

“Ressler!” Liz had spent enough nights sleeping in the same location as Reddington to recognize these kinds of dreams. She also knew it probably wasn't a good idea to touch him to wake him up. But she wasn't going to leave him in whatever these dark memories or imaginings were, either.

“Ressler!” she called again, louder. “Wake up!”

He stayed where he was for another tense few moments. Then, finally, when she called his name again, he gasped and opened his eyes. It still took a few more seconds before she saw recognition dawn.

“You okay?” she asked, after a pause. “That must have been an awful nightmare.”

Ressler just breathed in and out for several moments. Then he nodded. “Yeah, you could say that. Sorry if I woke you.”

“You didn't,” she assured him. She reached out a tentative hand and stroked it over his forehead. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Ressler sighed again, shutting his eyes at her touch. “Not really. But, um, it was about when-- when Dr. Cameron made me change, the first time.”

Liz bit her lip. He'd never told her much about that, or about what he remembered of the events leading up to that forced first change, either. “What else?” she prompted.

He took another moment to reply. But instead of sharing any more details, he just took her hand and kissed it. “I forget most of it already – which is fine with me.” Then he sat up and released her hand. “That wasn't how I wanted our first morning together to go. Sorry.”

“Stop apologizing,” she said, leaning in to kiss him once, lightly. “It's not like we don't both have plenty of traumatic things to dream about.”

“That's true.” He looked at her, concern in his eyes, and then shook his head. “Anyway. Come on. Now that we're both up, I'm hungry. I could make us breakfast, if you want.”

She smiled. “That sounds great.”

Liz set aside her worry about his bad dream for a couple of weeks, during which they spent most of their free time together. It was a delight to be able to get to know her former partner outside the constraints of work – and without one of them being on the run from the law. When they were together, they simply relaxed, chatted, watched movies, and explored each other more thoroughly.

Of course, approximately half of their get-togethers took place at her apartment. The first time Ressler had come over after work for one of these evenings, they realized one thing they had to do to make this work: they had to convince Hudson that Ressler wasn't a threat. Her little dog had come charging out, barking and growling, as soon as Ressler entered the apartment.

“Hudson!” Liz called sharply, and picked him up to keep him from reaching his goal. “Stop that! You know Ressler – he's a friend.”

“A little more than that, I think,” said Ressler wryly, as Hudson squirmed but quieted in her arms. “Don't want to give you a false impression, buddy.”

Rolling her eyes, Liz brought her dog over to him. “Remember, Hudson? You know him. I promise.”

Ressler extended his hand, palm up, very slowly. Obviously reluctant, Hudson sniffed it, then whined and backed away as best he could while still in Liz's arms. “He _knew_ me, before I ever heard of Dr. Cameron,” said Ressler with a sigh. “The problem is, I'm pretty sure he can tell I now have the potential to turn into something big enough to eat him in one bite.”

“Ressler!” She glared at him, pretending to cover Hudson's ears. “That is not helping.”

He smirked but acknowledged that wasn't the right solution. “So what are we going to do, then? I don't want to terrify your dog every time I come over, or have him be so worked up about me being here that he bothers us constantly while we're – busy.”

It was Liz's turn to smirk as she set Hudson down. The little dog stayed close to her, staring up at her partner with obvious suspicion. “Yeah, that wouldn't be good.” She looked at the dog, pondering.

“Well, while you consider that,” said Ressler, “I'll go start dinner – if this fierce guy lets me go past him, that is.”

She bent down and held onto her dog's collar while Ressler passed by. He was, in fact, growling again. “So brave, Hudson,” she told him, “but you really don't have to protect me from Ressler. I wish you'd believe me. Besides, I've seen what he looks like when he changes, and if you ever...” She trailed off. Now that was an interesting idea.

She walked over to the kitchen, where Ressler was in the process of assembling the ingredients for some kind of pasta dish, she thought. “I just had an idea,” she said. “I'm not sure if it would work, but if it did, it would solve our Hudson problem.”

“Oh?” said Ressler, looking up from the cutting board. “What's that?”

Liz gave him a wry shrug as she started out with, “This is going to sound weird. And maybe you'll, uh, decide you'd rather not do it.”

At that, he raised an eyebrow. “Let me hear it, and I guess I'll try to keep an open mind.”

“What if you were to just … go ahead and establish dominance?”

Eyes widening, he started at her, and then at the little dog at her feet. “You mean...?”

“I mean,” explained Liz, “you transform, just for long enough to show Hudson what exactly it is that he's been noticing about you, and then make sure he knows who's boss.”

Ressler frowned, though he seemed more thoughtful than offended. “You aren't worried that the sight of me will, I don't know, give your poor dog a heart attack? Or even just scare him so much he makes a mess?”

“If he were a little more high-strung, then yeah,” she replied, glancing down at Hudson again. “But he's actually fairly mellow, for a dog his size.”

Ressler was quiet for a while as he continued cutting up a chicken breast. “I was more thinking along the lines of bribing him with treats until he liked me,” he admitted, with a self-deprecating smile.

Liz returned the smile. “Well, maybe we can combine the two ideas? He loves chicken.”

The two ate dinner when it was ready, and Ressler slipped Hudson a few pieces of chicken (though not at the table, at Liz's insistence) as well. The dog enjoyed it, and at least seemed a little less suspicious of Ressler by the end of the meal.

“All right,” said Ressler, after they had cleaned up the remnants of the meal, “how do you think I should do this? I was thinking I would go into another room, transform, and then come back out.”

Liz nodded. “That sounds reasonable.” Then she chuckled and said, “Thank you, by the way, for not laughing at me or telling me it's not worth it to spend so much effort on this.”

He shrugged. “I don't want to be the jerk that tries to make you choose between me and your pet.”

“Afraid of which I'd choose?” she teased. At his scoff, she took a few steps closer and reached for his hand. “Seriously, though, Ressler, I appreciate it.”

He was about to lean in for a kiss when Hudson barreled forward, snarling and barking again. “Okay, fine, I get it,” he sighed, stepping back and shooting the dog a dirty look. “Let's get this over with.” Without waiting for a response from either Liz or her dog, he walked into the guest room and shut the door most of the way.

“I really hope this works,” Liz muttered to herself – and to Hudson, she supposed.

A few seconds later, the door opened more, and then a familiar large, furred face appeared, pushing it open the rest of the way. Next to her, Hudson tensed. His growl this time had a hint of a whine in it.

Slowly, the wolf that was Ressler emerged from the room. His posture was alert but not aggressive. When Hudson whined again, Ressler started to show more overt signals of dominance: he bared his teeth, his hackles rose, and he stood stiff-legged. In response, to Liz's relief, Hudson put his ears back and crouched to the ground, tail between his legs.

“Good boy,” said Liz softly, making sure Ressler could tell she was talking to her dog, not to him. “Ressler, I guess you might know this already, but you could come see him now, to reinforce what he just learned.”

Ressler nodded and came over, relaxing his posture and wagging his tail slightly as he bent to sniff Hudson. The little dog returned the gesture, still not getting up from where he was crouched. Then he licked Ressler on the face.

Laughing, Liz watched Ressler back up, with clear irritation in his thoughts. “I think he gets the picture, at least,” she pointed out. “Though we'll have to see what he thinks when you turn back.”

To her further amusement, when Ressler turned to go back into the room, Hudson followed. She called for him to come back, but he didn't listen. In fact, he didn't stop at the door to the room – not for long enough that Ressler was able to push the door shut before he snuck in, anyway. Which she was pretty sure her partner had not been anticipating. “Oh-- Hudson...” she said, then sighed.

At least she didn't hear any sounds suggesting her dog had freaked out at witnessing the wolf turn back into the man. When Ressler said something that she couldn't hear through the door, Hudson barked – but not angrily this time.

Ressler came back out not too much later – on two legs this time – with Hudson right beside him. She noted that he was only wearing his jeans, T-shirt, and socks, having evidently decided it wasn't worth bothering with the button-up shirt he had been wearing. “I think it worked,” he said.

“I think you're right.” She came over and bent to give Hudson a pat before standing up and kissing Ressler. “Hmm,” she murmured, pulling away just enough to speak, “no protests from the peanut gallery.”

“I noticed that,” he replied, as he ran his hands through her hair. “Seems like we came to an understanding, canine to canine.”

She smiled and kissed him again, more deeply. “Then I say we take advantage of this new era of understanding.”

“Let's.”

~

That night ended up being the second time she had to wake Ressler out of a nightmare. After this experience, Liz didn't think she was going be able to just let this issue slide. This time, he did actually wake her up, only a few hours after they'd gone to bed. She was brought out of her deep sleep by a moan from Ressler, and then once she realized what was happening, she also heard his ragged breaths again.

“Ressler?” It was dark in her bedroom, but she could see how he was curled in on himself. “Ressler, can you hear me? You need to wake up.”

At the sound of her voice, he tensed and inhaled sharply. Then he sat up partway, still asleep, threw off the sheets, and growled. To her alarm, she saw what she might have in other circumstances taken to be his skin darkening – that is, if she hadn't already been clued in by the growl: it was fur. He was transforming, right here, on her bed.

“Ressler!” She scrambled backward. If she couldn't wake him up in time, he'd need the space. Especially given what kind of dream he was having. She heard Hudson barking frantically, from outside the bedroom. “Wake up, Ressler!”

By now, he was almost completely transformed (a part of her noted that it was probably a good thing he hadn't been wearing much in the way of clothes). But Liz's shout finally did the trick, and his eyes snapped open. It wasn't hard at all for Liz to read the dismay in his expression, even before he started the change back to his human self. And once he was there, he stared at her for several moments with wide eyes, still on his hands and knees on the bed. “Are you okay?” he asked then, voice hoarse. “I didn't-- Did I--?”

“You didn't hurt me,” she told him. She took a slow, deep breath. Her heart was still pounding. “But it's a good thing for both of us that I woke up when I did.”

“Oh my God.” The words were a low groan. He turned and climbed off the bed, hurrying into the bathroom and shutting the door behind him. She heard him run the water in the sink for a while.

Liz pulled herself back further onto the bed, leaning against the headboard. This – this was not something she could ignore. She bit her lip, wondering how long he'd had to try to deal with it by himself. While also dealing with the numerous stresses involved in hunting her down and trying to clear her name.

Ressler opened the door a minute later. He paused in the doorway, backlit by the bathroom light, and then he sighed and turned it off. He had put on pajama pants, Liz noted.

“Are you all right?” she asked him quietly, as he came back over to the bed. He didn't sit down, just stood next to it.

“I'm okay now,” he said. He shook his head and went on, “But I almost-- I could have-- God, Liz, I'm so sorry.”

Liz took a little while before she replied. He was right that what had happened could have had dangerous consequences, although she didn't believe he would have let it go very far. But she couldn't just tell him everything was okay, either. “I appreciate that,” she said at last, “and I really am fine. But Ressler, this-- this is something we're going to have to talk about. We can't ignore it. If we try to, it's going to end badly.”

He nodded. “You're right. But it's late – or really early. We should talk about this in the morning. Until then I'll, uh, I'll sleep on your couch.”

“Ressler, you don't have to--” she started to protest, but he had already grabbed his pillow and turned to leave. “Fine. Let me know if you need anything. I mean that.”

Nodding again without turning around, Ressler left the bedroom. He spoke quietly to Hudson, whose barking, thankfully, had ceased.

As it turned out, Liz didn't get much sleep for the rest of the night. She wasn't able to let her brain rest. Her studies and her degree meant that she had an idea of what might be going on with her partner, depending on any other symptoms he might show. And if she was correct, he was going to need more help than she could offer.

When she turned over and looked at her bedside clock for the hundredth time, it was six in the morning. Liz gave up on getting any more sleep. She got out of bed and put on a robe before going out to check on Ressler. To her pleased surprise, he seemed to be sleeping solidly in her living room. Of course there was no way of knowing how long he'd been sleeping, but still. She went quietly back into her room, followed by Hudson. Maybe Ressler would be able to get some more sleep while she showered.

When she got out, she smelled coffee and heard some sounds from the kitchen. He was up, then. She pulled on some clothes. As far as she knew, Red wasn't planning to bring a new case to the task force today. Maybe they could really talk about this, then, if her partner let them.

With some trepidation, Liz went out into the kitchen. Ressler looked up from where he was pouring himself some cereal. “Hey.”

“Hey. Did you get any sleep out here?” She came over and put an arm around him. To her relief, he didn't seem tense or on edge.

“Some,” he replied. He leaned into her for a few seconds, then went back to his breakfast preparation. “You going to have some of this, or something else?”

“I think I'll just start with coffee,” she said, groaning as she stretched her arms behind her head. Before she grabbed a mug, she went over to Hudson's dish, where he was waiting expectantly, and poured him some food.

Silence fell for a few minutes, as the two humans went about their breakfast routines. Then when they sat down next to each other on the bar stools at her counter, the silence got a little more tense. Finally, after Liz had drunk most of her cup of coffee, she cleared her throat. “How long have you been having these bad dreams, Ressler?”

He didn't look at her at first. She could see his grip tighten on the sides of his bowl. Then he made an obvious effort to relax. “I was trying to figure that out myself, earlier,” he told her. “It-- it hasn't been the whole time, since right after that whole thing with Cameron and Solomon. And as far as I can tell, it doesn't happen all that often, either.”

“Okay.” That was probably a good sign. “Any estimate when the dreams did start to get like this?”

Ressler looked up and then away. “Maybe a couple of months ago. I can't give you anything close to an exact date,” he said, more shortly. “It's not like I had anyone whose sleep I was interrupting back then, other than myself. And I was already not sleeping particularly well before Cameron took me.”

He had looked at her again, at that last sentence, and she felt it like an accusation. There was a very good reason why he wouldn't have been sleeping well: her. But she just nodded. “And...” She felt herself start to rub her scar. “And you talked to the Bureau psychologist after you, uh, got back, right?”

“Yeah, there were a bunch of mandatory appointments before I was allowed back on the field,” he said. He pushed the last bite of cereal around with his spoon. “But according to the doctor, I was doing all right, all things considered, back then.”

Liz nodded. “Well, I'm glad that was true,” she told him.

“Yeah, but it's not true now.” Ressler turned to meet her gaze directly this time, his own eyes dark. “I can't-- I won't sleep next to you if I'm going to keep having these dreams, Liz. If I'm going to transform, and put you at risk.”

“Something does have to change,” Liz agreed quietly. Then she reached for his hand. “But not just for my sake, Ressler. I want you to be able to work through this, to feel better, for _you_.”

He swallowed and stared at their hands on the counter. He stood up then and took his bowl over to the sink, where he stood gazing out the kitchen window. Without turning toward her, he asked, “If you had to diagnose me right now, what would your diagnosis be?”

“Well,” said Liz, taking her time and choosing her words with care, “since I've been spending so much time with you lately, I can tell you're not showing all the signs of full-blown PTSD. But the dreams are a concern.”

His shoulders sagged. After a long pause, he said in a low voice, “So does that mean I could end up with PTSD? If I don't deal with this?”

She stood up and went to stand behind him. “I'm not going to try to sugarcoat it, Ressler,” she said. “Yes. That is possible. But that doesn't have to be the way it happens. We can deal with this, together, now that it's out in the open.”

He let out a long sigh, and then nodded. “Okay. I guess that means more therapy. I shouldn't be surprised. After all, I'm already an addict, and I already had a mad scientist screw with my DNA, permanently changing it. Why wouldn't I show symptoms of PTSD, on top of all of that?”

It was hard for her heart not to break at his tone as well as that admittedly grim list of problems. It wasn't fair for him to have to face them all, she thought with a surge of anger. But instead of giving voice to that, she wrapped her arm around his back and said, “You know I'm proud of you, right, Ressler?”

Looking down at her, clearly surprised, he raised his eyebrows. “For what, exactly?”

“For staying clean,” she explained. “Because you have, right? Even with-- those other things you just listed, and … having to hunt me down.”

Ressler licked his lips and nodded. “I go to meetings.”

“That's good.” Red had mentioned this to her, one day while they were still on the run. She had been pleased to hear it then, and she was pleased that Ressler trusted her enough to tell her now, as well. “There are support groups for survivors of various kinds of trauma, too.”

He didn't look enthusiastic, but all he said was, “I should find a good therapist, first.”

“True,” she agreed. She realized she hadn't come out and told him yet that she had been seeing a therapist, herself, but there was absolutely no reason not to. “Mine can probably recommend someone who specializes in PTSD and related symptoms. Do you want me to ask her?”

Ressler blinked. His expression and bearing relaxed just a fraction more. “Sure. Today?”

“I'll call her as soon as I get dressed,” she promised. Then she kissed his shoulder. “We really are going to be okay. I know you know this, but admitting that there's a problem that needs to be solved...”

“Yeah,” he said. With a little smile, he added, “I, uh-- with all respect to the psychological treatment process, I hope I get better soon, though. Because I don't want to wait too long to share a bed with you again.”

Liz kissed him again, on the lips this time. When they separated, they were both panting. “That means I agree, in case you didn't get that,” she told him. “But in the meantime, it'll help that we can spend other time together, right?”

“Definitely,” he affirmed, drawing closer so he could kiss her some more.

~~  
With Liz's doctor's recommendation, it only took Ressler two days to get an initial appointment with Dr. Wong, who specialized in working with both law enforcement officers and combat veterans struggling to deal with traumatic events. The man was straightforward, experienced, and insightful. Ressler liked him almost immediately.

The only remaining question, as he told Liz at dinner that evening after his appointment, was whether he should tell Dr. Wong the specifics of the trauma that he had undergone. “I guess I could ask Dr. Maynard to send over some of my records,” he said, while they waited for their entrees. “Otherwise, Dr. Wong would have to assume I'm delusional _and_ traumatized.”

“Unless you wanted to prove your story to him yourself,” Liz said. She raised an eyebrow. “Which I'm not necessarily recommending, by the way. At least not until he's seen Dr. Maynard's records on you, maybe.”

Don scoffed. “Yeah. Wouldn't want to drive the doc crazy by accident, after all.”

With these things in mind, he ended up deciding to talk to Dr. Maynard first, before he made any decisions about what he would tell or show his therapist. Of course, that meant telling this guy a little more than he would have ever preferred about his personal life. (The fact that it bothered him didn't make a lot of sense, he recognized, since Dr. Maynard already knew a lot more about him in some ways than anyone else on the planet – being familiar, as he was, with Ressler's DNA. But the fact remained, Ressler didn't like it.)

“What can I do for you, Agent Ressler?” the young doctor said, after they had exchanged greetings over the phone.

Ressler hesitated, and then reminded himself why he was doing this. “Well, I have a question and then a request.”

“Sure. Shoot.”

“Okay. First of all, I, uh, just started to see a therapist about … everything that happened to me, and I was wondering what you think would be most useful for this doctor to know about my case,” he said.

There was a pause. “Ah. I can see why that could be a little complicated,” said Maynard. “Um, let me think. I suppose the doctor would need to know the broad strokes of what Cameron did, in order to understand the specifics? Which, by the way, there's no reason I need to know anything beyond what I already know.”

“Uh huh.” Don cleared his throat. “So, in that case, would it be possible for you to send some of my records to Dr. Timothy Wong? Just, ah, enough information to give a good background, like you said.”

“Not a problem,” replied Maynard. “I'll get that to him tomorrow, Agent Ressler.”

Ressler sighed. That would be a relief. “Thanks, Doctor.”

“You're welcome – and, um, good luck to you, too.” The comment was sincere.

As she was getting ready to leave his apartment that night, Liz asked, “So do you think you'll actually show Dr. Wong? Prove what's in those records?”

Ressler watched her put on her coat. It killed him that she wouldn't be staying the night – but he hadn't wavered in his determination to never put her at risk again the way he had, by transforming mid-nightmare like that. “I don't know yet,” he told her, in answer to her question. “I don't exactly want to strip naked in his office, even if he does have some advance warning.”

Liz coughed, amused. “No, yeah, that might not be the best move.”

“I guess I could … start the change, then reverse it,” he mused. “That might be enough.”

“It might,” she agreed, a thoughtful expression on her face. Then she leaned in and kissed him lightly. “Anyway, I should go. I'll see you at work tomorrow.”

“Yeah. Goodnight,” he said, wistful as she left.

~


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, everyone! So sorry for the delay in getting another chapter of this posted. I will admit that my enthusiasm faded for a little while, especially over the long hiatus. But I'm back, and hopefully will be posting chapters more often now that the show is back as well! Thanks for your patience.

~  
Two mornings later, the day after the task force had taken down Drexel, Don was just getting ready to leave for work. He stopped with his keys in his hand a few yards away from his car. Raymond Reddington was standing next to it, with Dembe standing next to him. “Donald,” said Reddington with a smile. “Good morning. I trust you slept well.”

A number of possible reasons for why Red would choose to meet him before his arrival at the Post Office flashed through Don's mind, but none stood out as obviously correct. Surprisingly enough, the man hadn't bothered him or Liz about their relationship, though Don was sure he knew. “What do you want?” he finally decided to just go ahead and ask.

Laughing, Red shook his head and said, “No need to sound so suspicious, Donald. I'm only here to ask you for a small favor.”

“And that's supposed to make me _less_ suspicious?” he pointed out. On the other hand, at least it didn't seem like this was going to be all about Reddington trying to get him to stop seeing Liz, or something.

“It's nothing illegal or even questionable,” said Reddington, acknowledging Ressler's point with another brief smile. “And it needn't take very long. You shouldn't end up being more than a few minutes late for work. We can see to it on the way, in fact.”

Though he hadn't actually said yes yet, Ressler sighed and allowed himself to be led to Reddington's car. “Do I get to know what it is before we get there?”

“I need your expert opinion on a piece of artwork,” was the criminal's response. At Ressler's thunderstruck expression, he laughed again and went on, “Which is to say, I need you to tell me what you can about the scents you pick up from one particular painting.”

“Ah.” That made a lot more sense, though he still had questions. “Are you expecting me to recognize someone?”

“Perhaps, perhaps not,” said Reddington. “There's at least one person associated with it who I'm sure you'll know.”

Once Dembe stopped in front of a nondescript building, there was no hint of amusement on Red's face. When they got inside and Ressler saw the painting in question, he understood why. “What the hell?!”

It was a large, framed canvas – almost large enough for its representation of Liz to be life-sized. She was grieving, standing next to a gravestone with the word “REDDINGTON” on it, against a dripping red background. The image was chilling, and its meaning could not have been more blindingly clear. He swallowed. And then Ressler remembered: the sketchpad he and Samar had seen inside Drexel's studio. There had been a rough outline of this same gravestone. “This is why you wanted Drexel?”

Not at all surprisingly, Reddington didn't quite answer. “I imagine his scent will be detectable, but I'd like to know what other scents you can detect, if you would be so kind.”

A hell of a lot more questions had occurred to him in the few seconds he had been staring at the painting, but Don shook himself and did as Reddington asked. When he got close, he could in fact pinpoint Drexel's scent under the sharp paint smell. But several other people had left traces on it, as well. “Besides Drexel, and you and Dembe, I can pick out two, maybe three other people,” he reported. He took another whiff. “Two, I think. I don't recognize either of them. Although...” He inhaled again, even closer, trying not to feel self-conscious as he did so. One of the scents had seemed familiar at first, but he couldn't say for sure how. “One of them is sort of-- It's like I should know it, but I don't.”

As he turned to look at Reddington, the man nodded. He didn't appear surprised by any of this news. “Thank you, Donald,” he said. “I may ask you to confirm those scents at a later date. And as I'm sure I don't need to tell you, considering the content of this painting, if you ever run across either of those two people who you detected, assume that they are dangerous. Especially to Elizabeth.”

He had, in fact, already reached that conclusion. Also... “That sounds like you know who's behind this. So who is it, who commissioned it?” That last part was just an assumption, but he doubted Drexel had known enough about Reddington to decide to paint it himself. Don stared at it again, clenching his fists. “Whoever it was knows what Liz looks like right now.” Her hair in the painting looked very much like it did currently. They had to have been watching her. The thought made him feel ill, even though the threat was obviously directed at Reddington most of all.

“Rest assured, I'm investigating any and all angles, including anyone who might have been watching Elizabeth,” Reddington said. “I would appreciate it if you kept this to yourself, however.”

Ressler tore his gaze from the canvas (which, he was sure, would be featuring in his nightmares from now on). “Reddington, this is a threat on your life!” he said, aware he was almost shouting. “The task force can--”

“The task force should keep working on the Blacklisters that I bring to you,” the man interrupted, expression deceptively calm. “If I need further assistance from any of you, you can be sure I'll ask.”

He glared at Red. “Uh huh. And are you expecting me to keep this from Liz, too? Because that's not going to happen.”

“Yes, I suppose this new phase of your relationship with her would make that challenging for you,” Red said, almost casually, as he gestured for Dembe to shut the painting back into its wooden case. “If you feel you must inform Elizabeth, then I'll ask that you at least keep it to a general summary. For her sake.”

Don found himself thinking about the implications of this request, as well as of the whole incident, for the rest of the trip to the Post Office. He did need to decide what he'd tell Liz. No doubt she would be very curious when she saw him arrive with Red. Red seemed lost in thought during the drive as well. At any rate, he didn't try to engage the FBI agent in conversation at all.

Red hadn't leveled any objection at all about Liz and him being together, Don realized as they arrived. That was … thought-provoking in and of itself. There was no logical way of reading that fact that didn't imply that Reddington _approved_. Ressler wasn't sure how he felt about that. Of course, the whole reason Reddington cared as much as he clearly did for Liz remained a mystery.

Just as Ressler had predicted, Liz watched him in surprise as he arrived at the Post Office with Reddington. “Well, well,” she said, coming over to them both. “Not only are you actually late, but you show up with this guy?”

At her gesture and flippant comment in his direction, Reddington looked amused. “Blame me if you like, Lizzie,” he said. “I'll leave Agent Ressler to tell you why later. But for now, we have a new case to prepare for. If I could talk to you for a few minutes?”

“So what did Red want with you this morning?” Liz asked him over lunch. She glanced around and lowered her voice. “He wasn't hassling you about – about us, was he?” Their relationship wasn't a secret, exactly, but it was still new enough that neither of them felt like broadcasting it to the rest of the task force. And Liz was still anxious that the fact that Ressler was sleeping with someone who was technically an FBI asset might be seen as a breach of conduct, though Ressler had tried to convince her he doubted Cooper would stick to the letter of the law there.

“No, it wasn't anything like that,” Ressler told her, “although he does know. I'm sure he'll have more to say about it, too, but he, uh, just sort of mentioned it.”

Liz raised her eyebrows. “Huh. All right. Then what did he want?”

“My help identifying the scent of someone who sent him a death threat.” He'd start with that much, see where it went, he figured.

“A death threat?!” She set down her fork. “Who-- oh, I guess he doesn't know who sent it, or he wouldn't have asked you to help find out.”

“Well, I'm not actually sure he doesn't know,” admitted Ressler, scratching the side of his face. “It was almost like he just wanted to know if I recognized the person or people's scents. Which I didn't, by the way.”

“Huh,” Liz repeated. She still looked troubled. “Have you told Cooper about the threat?”

He shook his head. “No. Reddington asked me not to. Said he'd let us know if he needs our help.” He allowed his frustration and annoyance to color his tone.

“Of course he'd say something like that,” muttered Liz. “Is it something we could investigate ourselves, even without having the threat physically in front of us to look at?”

Ressler pondered this for a moment, and then shook his head again. “I don't think so, unfortunately,” he told her. “I mean, I do have a vague idea I need to look into. If it seems like it'll pan out at all, I'll let you know.” He wanted to see if anything that the team had turned up in their investigation into Drexel looked promising – but he knew if he told Liz about this connection, that would only prick her curiosity about the nature of the death threat even further. And he did see some of Reddington's logic in not wanting her interested in some creep who had been watching her.

Liz gave him a suspicious look at that, but when he didn't offer anything further, she just said, “Fine.”

~  
That evening was Don's first therapy appointment since Dr. Wong had received the patient information Dr. Maynard had promised to send. That meant Don could be pretty sure his therapist now knew some details about Dr. Cameron's experiments. Consequently, Don found himself more nervous than he had been for his previous two appointments. Which was not rational, he knew – but that didn't stop his palms from sweating as he sat in the waiting room. (He was by himself; he and Liz had agreed this was important for him to do on his own.) Dr. Wong was a good man, Don reminded himself, with a sterling reputation and no indication that he was motivated by anything but a desire to help his patients. There was no real reason to be anxious that the doctor would respond in any dangerous way to the revelation of this particular patient's ability to transform into an animal.

As he was finishing this thought, Dr. Wong's inner office door opened, and the doctor stepped through the doorway. “Don, good to see you again. Are you ready to get started?”

“Yeah.” Wiping his palms discreetly on his slacks, Ressler stood and followed the man into his office. Once Dr. Wong had closed the door behind them, he went and sat down on the couch. “So, uh, I take it Dr. Maynard sent over some of my records.”

“He did,” said the doctor, sitting in the chair next to the couch. His expression was one of curiosity, and nothing else. “I'll admit they made for … surprising reading.”

Letting out a short laugh, Ressler looked down at his knees and said, “I can imagine. But I thought-- I think it's important for you to know more about what happened to me, so you have a better idea of how to treat me.”

“Well, I won't disagree with you, Don,” Dr. Wong replied. He paused, and then went on, “But I also won't deny that these reports are a bit thin on certain details. There are a lot of references to things that I'm sure Dr. Maynard knows more about but hasn't explained fully. That's not to say I'm going to force you to fill in the blanks, though. Not unless we're both ready for the possibility that doing so could trigger a reaction of some kind in you.”

Ressler blinked. “You mean, like a flashback or something?” If that was a risk, maybe that explained why he was so nervous.

Dr. Wong nodded. “That, or maybe even a panic attack.”

“Oh.” He swallowed. Neither of those options sounded pleasant. On the other hand, just avoiding the whole topic instead wasn't going to work very well, he was pretty sure.

“I have another suggestion,” said the doctor, after another short pause. “Why don't we start by having you tell me, in your own words and at your own pace, what you remember of what happened after Dr. Cameron captured you the second time. Then if you're feeling up to it by that point, I can ask you some more detailed questions if I think they'll be relevant.”

 _And I can answer a lot of them just by starting to change_ , Don thought, but kept that to himself. “Okay,” was what he said out loud. “We can try that.”

“If you start to feel afraid, your heart starts to pound or you feel dizzy or like it's hard to breathe, or you feel like you're not in control of your surroundings,” Dr. Wong said, “those are symptoms of a panic attack. I'll give you some tips before you start that can help you stave off a full-blown attack. But even if one does happen, I'll talk you through it, you'll be safe here, and you'll be just fine.”

As it happened, reliving his memories of the day he woke up in the cage, on top of the anxiety he'd already had before even starting the appointment, did in fact push him into the beginnings of a panic attack. It was the first one he had ever experienced, at least while awake. Just like he had been warned, his heart started to race, he started to hyperventilate, and he came very close to being overwhelmed by fear even as it felt like he was bizarrely detached from his surroundings. But Dr. Wong kept him grounded. He spoke to him in a constant, steady stream of reassurance, touching his shoulder while reminding him that he was fine, that all of these things had already happened to him, and that he wasn't in danger. He also reminded Ressler to keep breathing, deeply and slowly, as he'd told him before Ressler started this recitation.

When it faded, Ressler was exhausted, as if he had just sprinted half a mile. His chest ached. A thought occurred to him suddenly, and he looked down at himself and then up at the doctor's face. “Did-- did I start to...?” Damn it, how was he supposed to even ask that question if the doctor didn't already know about--?

Dr. Wong, he saw now, looked just the slightest bit shaken. “If you're asking whether you started to show evidence of the transformation ability that Dr. Maynard mentions,” he said, “then the answer is yes. You, uh... There was fur on your arms, your hands, and your face for a while.”

But there wasn't anymore. And Dr. Wong hadn't stopped trying to help his patient through the panic attack, even though he had obviously been shocked at what he witnessed. Still... “Sorry,” he said. “I was-- I was hoping to give you some more advanced warning before I did that.”

Dr. Wong raised his eyebrows. “Well, while I appreciate the thought behind that idea, Don, your apology isn't necessary,” he replied. “It's clear that it happened just then as part of your response to reliving the trauma – none of which is your fault.”

That was good of him to say, at least. Ressler took several more steadying breaths. “I didn't even finish telling you what I remember,” he said as he realized this fact.

“That's true,” said the doctor, “but we did both learn something important.”

After a moment, Don got it. “That talking about this can trigger me.”

“Exactly,” Dr. Wong said. “And now that we know that, we can work toward easing that reaction, which will also help with the intrusive dreams.”

“All right,” said Don. “That's … good.” It sounded like this was going to be a long process, which wasn't really what he wanted to hear. But he'd already known a quick fix wasn't likely.

Liz was thoughtful when she heard about the day's appointment that evening. “I agree with Dr. Wong, that the fact that we know what kinds of things might trigger you is an important and useful piece of information,” she said. She folded her hands in front of her, on his couch. “It helps me know how to help you, too, if I'm around when you start having an attack.”

Ressler nodded. Then he took a breath. “I hate to have to do this to the task force, but I think I need to tell Cooper what's been going on, and take some time out of the field,” he said. The idea had been building in his mind for a while, and after what he had experienced at his appointment today, he couldn't ignore it any longer. “I don't know how likely it is that something we'd run across on a case would make me … react like that, but I can't take that chance with Samar's life, or with letting a suspect escape, or anything.”

Liz's shoulders relaxed. “That's-- I'm glad you said that, Ressler,” she told him, “because I was going to recommend something like that, if you didn't. And I'm guessing you haven't told Dr. Wong you're still on active field duty, or he would have made a similar recommendation as well.”

He flushed. He had, in fact, heavily implied that he was already taking some time off. But he changed the subject a bit. “I don't want to be the person who stops the task force from going after Blacklisters, though.”

“I'm sure we'll figure something out,” she said, taking his hand in hers. “Besides, Red will understand. He's not going to push you into doing things that you're not ready to do right now.”

“Yeah, I guess,” he muttered. Whatever Cooper and the others came up with for him to do while he recovered from this, though, it wasn't going to be fun. Being a field agent was such a large part of who he was. That was part of the reason he had resisted going to see the Bureau shrink after Audrey: he hadn't wanted to be sidelined.

“Hey.” Her quiet word made him look up, and see that she was looking at him, seriously but with affection. “Look at it this way: if you're not able to be the field for the next little while, you could always take some time off. And then maybe I could take some time off, too, if you see where I'm going with this.”

“Hmm, yeah, I think I might be able to connect the dots there,” he replied, smiling and squeezing her hand. “But I feel like I should also point out that you were the one who was worried about what would happen if people at work find out about us – which they probably will, if we both take vacation time at the same time.”

At that, she looked down at their hands, all merriment fading from her expression. “Right. That's true. And if they did find out, you sound awfully blasé about the possibility of losing your job, Ressler.”

“I don't think that will happen,” he told her, after a moment. “Those rules are for a situation that neither of us really fit into: you're not anything like an average FBI asset or informant, and I'm sure as hell not your handler. You don't have one or need one. You're still part of the task force. I have no doubt Cooper would agree with me on all of that, too.”

“Cooper might,” said Liz, “but what about the people higher up, who have no reason to bend the rules for us? I mean, I'm betting some of them would rather see me gone, and they might not care about taking you down, too. I don't want that-- I don't want to be the reason you get fired.”

It took a moment before Ressler could speak. He knew she was genuinely worried, because she knew how important his job was to him. But he also had his suspicions that she still felt like she was permanently damaged, dirtied, a criminal – and that she would drag him down with her. He had to find some way of convincing her he didn't agree at all with her central thesis. “Liz, I appreciate you being concerned for me, and for my job,” he said, moving to stand in front of where she was seated on his couch. “But even if the worst should happen, and I lose my badge … if I still had you, I'd feel like I came out ahead.”

Her eyes widened, and then filled with tears a few seconds later. Before he could say anything else, she stood up and kissed him. He responded willingly. Just as he was about to bury his hands in her hair, she pulled away a bit, breathing heavily. “If you're sure about that – about what you just said about us,” she said, “then why don't we both go in to talk to Cooper tomorrow? We both have news to share.”

Don smoothed a lock of hair off her face and agreed. “Might as well let him hear it all at once.”

To their relief, Cooper took their news about as well as possible, the next day. “I'm glad you told me this, both of you,” he said, as they sat in his office. “Agent Ressler, we'll find the best way for you to continue working while you continue your therapy, when you get back from vacation. It won't be in the field, as you guessed, until the Bureau psychologist sees you and gives you the go-ahead, but it will still be crucial to our work.”

“Thank you, sir,” said Don with a nod. He still wasn't sure what kind of contribution he could really offer within those limitations, but he believed his boss would do his best with the situation.

“I also want you to know that I'm proud of you for getting help right away,” Cooper continued, a slight smile on his face. “I know it's not an easy thing to do.”

Don couldn't think of anything to say to that. He looked down, and Liz took his hand.

“On that other subject,” the older man said, observing this, “it's a very good thing you're not keeping this development hidden from me, or that would look a whole lot more like a violation of the Bureau's rules regarding agents and assets. And if there were such a violation, you both know the consequences.”

“Ressler would lose his job,” said Liz, her worry and guilt obvious again. “Sir, please don't--”

“I said that would have to happen if you had kept your relationship a secret, Elizabeth,” Cooper interrupted gently. “But I know neither of you will behave in any way that's less than professional, in professional contexts. And it's also true that your history with the task force carries weight, as does Reddington's agreement for how he works with us. I believe I can keep the higher-ups happy in how I talk to them about this, if they need to know. Just make sure your conduct at work remains above reproach.”

Liz bit her lip and thanked him. Ressler added his own gratitude. It was a relief to hear him say this, even if he had been pretty sure this was how he would respond.

“Good. Since that's settled, the only thing left to discuss is how much time you two are taking off,” said Cooper.

“I was thinking maybe two weeks,” said Ressler, glancing at Liz.

She nodded. “We're pretty sure Reddington won't bring a new Blacklist case during that time, but obviously we'll be reachable if that doesn't turn out to be true.”

“Then have a good time,” he said, smiling. “You both certainly deserve a break, as hard as you work.”

When they left Cooper's office, Liz surprised Ressler by taking his hand again. He looked at her, eyebrows raised.

She gave him a challenging look. “I was just thinking this might be a good way to let everyone know that we're together, without having to actually go around and tell people – or having to worry too much about rumors,” she said, holding up their joined hands. Then her expression got more serious. “Are you okay with that?”

“Yeah, I'm good with that,” said Ressler, tightening his grip on her hand. He grinned. “But maybe just this once, since this is probably pushing it as far as 'staying professional at work'.”

“Hmm, true,” she said. “So, just this once, then.”

Their intentional gesture did, in fact, draw some attention as they came downstairs. Samar noticed right away, for instance. She looked between the two of them and smiled. Aram noticed as well, and he looked, to Ressler's alarm, like he might rush forward and hug them both. But he refrained. He and Samar did, however, come meet them by the elevator.

“You two are being pretty cute – and bold,” was Samar's opening comment. “I take it you found a way to make sure this happy development won't result in Ressler getting fired?”

“Thanks to Cooper,” said Liz with a nod. She let go of Ressler's hand. “And we're not planning on flaunting anything after this--”

“But since we're taking some time off, we figured we'd get ahead of any rumors,” Don put in.

Aram's eyes brightened. “You both are-- That's awesome,” he said, beaming. “We'll miss you, but we want you to have a great time.”

Samar agreed, and asked, “How long will you be gone?”

They told their two friends the two-week idea, and Ressler quickly explained that most of that time would still be very local, in case anything came up. He didn't feel like adding in the detail that he needed to be nearby his therapist, too. (Liz also didn't mention it.)

“Well, I hope it's relaxing and just what you need.”

“Thanks, Samar.” Liz smiled at her.

As the two of them left the Post Office, Liz turned to Ressler. “So, how do you really want to organize our time?” she asked. “Because I'm fine with just splitting it between our apartments – but I also wouldn't say no to a few day trips.”

“Sounds good to me,” he said. “I mean, but that's only if you're really okay with not going on an actual vacation. You don't have to hang around and waste the only time off you might get for the foreseeable future if you don't want to.”

She cocked an eyebrow at him. “Okay, that's very noble of you, but I do want to. Be with you, that is.”

“Really?” His tone was light, but underneath that was an honest question. For all that she apparently believed she would taint his reputation somehow, he had trouble understanding why she wanted to spend this much time with him. All he had to offer was himself – addiction, borderline PTSD, and messed-up DNA, not to mention the stubbornness and quick temper that had always been there.

“Really,” she affirmed. “And it won't be a waste of time at all.”

~


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I was going to make this mostly fluff, but it ended up having more angst than I thought it would. But at least it still has a certain essential character in it, even though that particular event on the show kind of killed my inspiration again for a while, so...

~  
As it turned out, they had one week of nearly uninterrupted relaxation before that came to an abrupt end. For the first day, they stayed in at Liz's apartment, ordering in for lunch and dinner and just generally being as lazy as Ressler thought he had been probably since he was in high school. It was kind of hard to convince himself it was all right to relax, to not have to do anything – but he did his best.

“I'm impressed,” Liz said, after they finished their ice cream that evening. They were sitting on the couch together, with their empty bowls on the coffee table, a comedy of some kind playing on the TV, and Hudson curled up in Liz's lap. The little dog had originally wanted to sit in Ressler's lap, but had been (gently) encouraged to make a different choice.

“Impressed about what?” he asked her, yawning and shifting even closer to her.

She reached over and patted his knee. “The fact that Special Agent Donald Ressler actually took it easy today: no work, no talk about work, no obligations, just relaxation. I wasn't sure such a thing was even possible.”

“Oh, yeah, laugh it up,” Ressler said, pretending irritation at her teasing tone. “Hey, maybe you should take a photo or something, to commemorate this rare occasion.”

Liz grinned, and reached over for her phone. Hudson grumbled at her motion but stayed put. “That's not a bad idea, Ressler.”

“Hey, I was--” He sighed, and managed what he thought was a passable smile as she snapped a picture. Then he grabbed it out of her hands and retaliated in kind. She, of course, looked wonderful in the photo. To see her genuinely happy, and to know part of the reason was him … well, it was no wonder he had been able to enjoy today so fully.

The only downside to that first day was his lingering uncertainty about whether it was safe for them to share a bed. He hadn't had a nightmare of anywhere near the severity as the one that had precipitated this whole thing since that night, but that didn't mean it couldn't happen again.

“I understand your concern,” said Liz, “and I want us both to not be worrying about that, too. But I don't want to just keep kicking you out at night, either.” They were standing near the kitchen at this point. She leaned in and kissed him, then pulled away enough to whisper, “I miss you when you're not in bed next to me.”

He kissed her back, for long enough that he almost forgot what they had been talking about. But then he pulled back to tell her, “I miss you when I'm not with you, too.” With a sigh, he suggested, “I guess I could at least stay on the couch, if you're all right with that. Then we can still spend tomorrow morning together, without me having to drive over here or you having to drive over to my place.”

She smiled. “Yeah, I like that idea,” she said. “Let me guess: you have a change of clothes in the car, Mr. Boy Scout.”

“As usual,” he confirmed. “Be right back.”

Don had a moment of alarm after he grabbed his overnight bag and locked his car. He caught the faint sound of movement from nearby – stealthy movement. Instantly, hand going to his hip where his holster usually was, Don cursed mentally and made his own stealthy way in the direction of the sound. He drew closer to the apartment building, all of his senses on alert. If whoever this was was armed, he was going to have to--

But before he could finish that thought, a man Don recognized as part of Reddington's security team stepped into view, hands deliberately visible and raised. “Evening, Agent Ressler,” he said quietly. “Apologies if I disturbed you.”

Don let out a breath, and then purposefully took another slow, deep one. This was not a threat. This man was, in fact, an ally. “I'll get over it,” he told the man.

With a faint smile and a nod, the guard stepped back, melting into the shadows by the building. “Have a nice night,” Don thought he heard the guy say.

Shaking his head, Don went inside. He guessed it made some sense that if Red had a guard on Liz's floor, there would be at least one outside as well. He wondered what Liz's opinion was.

When he told her about it, her reaction was about what he'd been expecting: annoyance mixed with resignation. “Well, I guess that's nice to know,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Sort of. Would have been nicer if I'd been consulted first, but when does that ever happen?”

Knowing what he knew about the threat on Red's life – and the not-so-veiled point whoever had commissioned that painting had made about his or her knowledge of Liz – Ressler couldn't fail to see at least some of why Red had this level of protection in place around her. But he certainly could also commiserate with his partner over Red's habit of doing this kind of thing without even telling her ahead of time.

That night, Ressler had cause to be glad he had been cautious about his sleeping arrangements. Sure, the nightmare he had wasn't quite as terrible as the one that had resulted in him fully transforming on Liz's bed. It was still plenty bad, though.

It started out with him transformed and back in the outdoor enclosure where Solomon and his people had kept him. This time, though, instead of bringing him some of Liz's belongings so that he could track her, Solomon stood and watched, that infuriating smirk on his face, as his men brought Liz in, in a cage that was much the same as Ressler's. She looked terrified.

“So glad you found our missing ex-agent, Donald,” Solomon said, looking down where Ressler was, apparently immobile on the ground. “Now it shouldn't be long before we can have a pair of dogs to train. You just stay put.”

It wasn't like he had a choice. Though the man's words sent a chill through him, and though he tried his hardest to struggle, he couldn't move. Meanwhile, Dr. Cameron was getting closer and closer to him. The doctor was smiling triumphantly and holding a very large syringe – empty. Ressler panted in fear and dismay, but could do nothing as Cameron stabbed the needle into him, taking what seemed to be an absurdly large quantity of his blood. Then he had to listen and watch in horror as the doctor turned to go toward Liz. _No._ No, they couldn't do this! Not to her, too! It wasn't supposed to be able to be passed on like this!

Somehow, even though the angle should have been wrong from where he was lying, and he wasn't that close to her, Don could see when Liz realized what was going to happen to her. She screamed and backed as far away as her cage allowed. But then the other guards shocked the cage bars with their cattle prods, and she convulsed violently and fell to the floor. Cameron then opened the door and came toward her, vial of Don's blood at the ready.

This was unendurable. He had to stop this. With all his strength, he fought against his immobilization, and finally broke free – just as the doctor stuck the needle into Liz.

His shout of despair and his lunge forward brought Ressler awake. He had just almost launched himself off Liz's couch onto the floor. Hudson, who Ressler recalled had fallen asleep next to the couch, skittered backward, whining and wagging his tail.

It was a dream, Ressler told himself, trying to breathe normally as he scrubbed his hands over his face. Another awful dream. Liz hadn't been experimented on. Solomon and Cameron were dead. No one was going to do to her what had been done to him.

“Ressler?”

He looked up, startled. It was unusual for him not to hear her approach – but there she was, standing at the entrance of the hall that led to her bedroom. He cleared his throat. “I woke you up. Sorry.”

“It's fine,” she said, coming closer. “Are you all right?”

“Yeah.” He took a deep breath, trying not to notice that he was shaking, just a little. As far as he knew, he hadn't transformed at all this time. That was something. “Just another bad dream.”

“Sorry,” she said. She was standing in front of him now, only sympathy (all right, and some tiredness) in her expression. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Just like the last time she'd asked him that question, his first impulse was to avoid answering. But instead, he gestured for her to sit down next to him. From what Dr. Wong had been telling him, keeping this kind of thing to himself wasn't going to help him deal with his underlying problem. Hudson, sensing the tension was dissipating, came closer as Liz sat.

“I was, uh, at one of the places that Solomon kept me, before he gave me some of your things so I could track you,” he began. He hadn't really told anyone about his experiences before joining up with Liz and Reddington – well, he'd started to tell Dr. Wong some of it. But Liz should know. He filed that away as something he should do, soon. Now, there was no more reason to delay telling her the rest of the dream. Even though he really didn't want to relive those images.

“Solomon told me that because I had successfully tracked you down for them, Dr. Cameron was now going to be able to … to change your DNA the way he did with mine.” He swallowed. He really didn't want to trigger a panic attack here. This had only been a dream. None of it had actually happened. Liz and he were both safe.

With that in mind, he told her as much as he remembered of the rest of the dream. She let him speak without interrupting. Then, when he was done, she took his hand. “Thank you for telling me,” she said quietly. “I know that can't have been easy.”

Ressler shrugged. “I, uh, I want to get past this. And when I talk about the things I dream, it does actually make them seem less, um...”

“Less real?” Liz supplied.

He nodded. That was it.

“Good.” She leaned into him, resting her head on his shoulder.

They stayed like that, quiet, for long enough that Ressler started to feel drowsy again. Then he shook himself a little and touched Liz on her face. “Hey. You might be more comfortable if you went back to bed,” he pointed out.

“Mm. Nah. Think I'm fine right here,” Liz mumbled.

Now that he had woken out of his doze, he looked down at her. Her eyes were, in fact, closed, and she was all but asleep. It was a risk, considering why he'd been out here on the couch in the first place, but maybe it would pay off. Holding onto Liz, he lay back down on the couch, gently pulling her with him so she ended up mostly on top of him. It wasn't as comfortable as lying in a bed with her, but she seemed content. Hopefully his one terrible nightmare was enough for the night, he thought. With that, he shut his eyes and went back to sleep. He didn't dream for the rest of the night.

The next day, Don was scheduled to have one of his two appointments with Dr. Wong for the week. That was in the late afternoon, though. The rest of their day was free. All they had to do was decide what day trip option they were going to pick.

“I think the zoo is probably not a good idea,” Don said, as they ate their breakfast. “Given how Hudson reacted to me, and the few other animals I've come across recently.” On the floor next to them, Hudson wagged his tail at the sound of his name.

Liz frowned but nodded. “Yeah, I guess causing some kind of stampede might not be a great way to spend a date.”

“Not in my book, no.” On the other hand, it still gave him a kind of ridiculous thrill to think that there was nothing preventing him from going on a date with Liz Keen. When he thought about that fact, it almost didn't matter where they decided to go. “It's nice weather, or I'd say we could go to a museum. But let's do something outside.”

“Too bad the cherry blossoms are probably done by now,” she mused. “Oh! What about the Arboretum? I haven't been there in ages.”

“Sure,” Ressler agreed. He wasn't hugely into flowers, but he was very much into making Liz happy. And a walk outside in a pretty place sounded nice enough.

Their visit to the National Arboretum was almost entirely relaxing and pleasant. There were plenty of beautiful flowers, even if the cherry blossoms were in fact past their prime. The azaleas were apparently just getting to their peak. Since he and Liz were there on a weekday during the day, it wasn't too crowded, either, despite the nice weather.

The only thing that marred the day came when they were just setting up the picnic lunch they had brought with them. There weren't a whole lot of other people in the picnic area, but Don thought he noticed one older woman staring at the two of them in a less-than-friendly way, at a table some distance away. He decided not to mention it to Liz, though he kept alert.

Then, as Liz reached forward to get the bread and sandwich fixings out of the cooler, Ressler's keen ears caught what the woman was saying to her companion – husband, most likely.

“Doesn't that look like Elizabeth Keen over there – that woman who everyone said was a spy and a terrorist?”

Don tried not to tense up too obviously. As he opened up the package of paper plates, he listened hard. He had his personal piece with him. Just in case it became necessary. No way was anything like what had happened last time Liz was recognized by some irate civilian going to happen again.

“It does look like her, I guess,” the man was saying. He sounded less interested than his wife. “But even if it is--”

“And look! Isn't that the FBI agent who was on TV after she was captured?” The woman's voice got just a little louder and sharper. “Always talking about how she was innocent, how she'd been framed. And now they're all cozy together. I guess we can see why he _really_ cared about bringing her in.”

Ressler's grip on his can of root beer suddenly got very tight, such that he nearly shot the liquid all over his place at the picnic table. Liz looked at him in concern.

“Sorry,” he said, grabbing a napkin and wiping the soda off where it had splashed onto the side of the cooler.

“You okay?” she asked him in a low voice. “Do we need to--?”

“I'm fine.” He tried not to be irritated that she had clearly jumped right to worrying about his mental state. He wasn't so fragile that a picnic in a park could set him off, for God's sake.

Meanwhile, the lady's husband had said something in a cautious tone, something about not jumping to conclusions. “Just let them eat their lunch, honey. They might not even be who you think they are.”

“But she can't just--”

“Besides,” the man interrupted, “if he's an FBI agent, it's a really bad idea to bother them. Right?”

The woman grumbled something under her breath, but didn't say anything else. Liz, however, had been watching Don's face while he listened to this conversation. “What is it?” she asked. “What did you hear?”

He swallowed. There was no way he was about to ruin their date by telling her much. “Nothing important,” he told her. “Just … eavesdropping on a stupid conversation from another table.”

She raised an eyebrow. “And you're not going to tell me why that stupid conversation made you so upset?”

“Not unless there's any reason to bring it up again,” he replied. Then he took a deep breath and let it out, giving her a smile. She was sitting across their picnic table from her, it was a beautiful day, and they had good food to look forward to. It wasn't hard to smile. “I promise it doesn't matter. Now let's just enjoy our lunch, all right?”

Liz was quiet at first. If he had to guess, he'd bet she was deciding right now whether it would be worth it to push him, or whether that would totally spoil the mood. He was banking on her not wanting to spoil it.

“Fine,” she said at last, “but only if you promise to tell me about it later. I trust your judgment, but that doesn't mean I like it when you decide stuff like that for me.”

“That's fair,” he said. “And yes, I promise I will.”

Thankfully, the lady at the other table left them alone. She also kept her opinions to herself, from what Ressler could tell. He and Liz had a delicious, unhurried lunch, and then made their way back in plenty of time for his appointment.

It had gone well, he reflected, as he got back to his apartment that evening. Don still wished he could be making even more progress during therapy than he was, but that feeling was just going to be a constant during this process, he figured. He really wanted to reach the point where he and Liz could spend as much of every day _and_ night together as they wanted. But it would come.

Liz was sitting on his couch when he opened the door, curled up with a book in her lap. She marked the page and set it down as he came in. “Hey. How did it go?”

“It was good,” he told her. “No huge breakthroughs or anything, but Dr. Wong says I'm still making progress, so that's something.”

“Yes, it is,” she agreed.

“What do you want for dinner?” he called over his shoulder, as he walked into the kitchen. “I could order whatever, or we could go out.”

“Can we wait a little while before we do either?” Her tone was serious. “I, um, I wanted to talk first.”

Talk. This sounded like a big deal. Heart starting to beat a little faster, he came back into the living room. “Okay. Sure. What did you want to talk about?”

She took a deep breath, looked down, and then met his gaze. “I think we need to discuss your protective tendencies.”

Ressler's first reaction was to want to deny it, to tell her angrily that there was nothing to talk about. But he took his own deep breath and came to sit down in the easy chair across from her. “Is this about me not telling you what I overheard at the Arboretum today? Because it really wasn't anyth--”

“It's more than that,” she cut in. “It's-- Ressler, I know you want to keep me safe, and there's nothing wrong with that desire. I know it comes from how much you care about me. But I already have Reddington doing his best to keep me safe, usually without giving me any say in the matter. And I'm,” she sighed, frustrated, “I'm kind of used to that by now. He's a wanted criminal, a fugitive used to staying in the shadows, and for whatever reason he's been looking after me since I was a little girl. So it sort of makes sense, in a twisted kind of way, that this is how he chooses to protect me.”

Before Ressler could say anything else, she pinned him with her gaze again and went on. “But you – we're partners. Or, well, we were.”

“We still are,” he interjected, clenching his fists.

She smiled briefly, nodded, and said, “Yes. So, we're partners. And that means we're on an equal footing with each other. Not like Red and me. You don't get to make decisions about my safety without at least talking about it with me – just like I wouldn't try to do that for you.”

He took a few seconds to consider his response. There was no denying the truth, the rightness in what she'd said, and yet... “I see what you're saying,” he said, “but there are situations where if I know something and you don't, you'd be safer than if you did know it.”

She scoffed. “Do you really not hear how much you sound like Reddington right now? Haven't you seen how hard he makes it for me to trust him completely?” Leaning forward then, she took his hand, irritation fading from her expression. “I want to trust _you_ completely, Ressler. And I want you to respect me enough to let me decide for myself how I'll respond to danger. Do you?”

His jaw dropped. Even the implication that he didn't respect her enough was painful. But maybe she had a point. “I do, Liz. Of course I do,” he said quietly. “I'm sorry for giving you any reason to doubt that.”

After searching his face for a few seconds, she nodded. “I accept your apology. So, what was that conversation that you overheard in the park?”

Sighing, Ressler rubbed a hand across his face and gave her a summary of what the woman had said. “I would have told you, like I promised, if it had seemed like she was really going to make trouble. But she didn't.”

Liz's face had taken on that look he recognized as an attempt to mask hurt or anger as she listened to the whole story. Now, she cleared her throat. “Well. I, um, I see why you didn't want to tell me about it at the time,” she said.

Don felt a brief, renewed surge of anger toward that busybody witch from the park. This was exactly what he had wanted to prevent Liz from feeling. But then she went on.

“But next time, if you catch someone saying something like that, you could give me a little more of an outline of what's going on. Then I can decide if I want to know more, or if I want to leave, or whatever.”

That, Don could totally get behind. He nodded. “Okay. I'll remember that.”

“Thank you.” She smiled. “Now, I don't want to make us wait for dinner any longer.”

“Good, because I think my stomach was just about to start complaining loudly,” he said. He stood up, but stopped in front of her, meeting her gaze. “Seriously, though, Liz, I'm sorry I made you feel like you do when Reddington decides things for you. I never want you to think that I think you're not capable and strong, and worthy of respect. I just...” He sighed. “I already wanted to do my best to keep you safe when we were just partners on the task force, and that's only gotten more important to me now.”

She stood as well, and laid a hand on his face. “It's just as important to me that you're safe,” she said. “Safe and healthy and happy.”

He covered her hand with his. Then he leaned down to kiss her. “I've never been happier,” he told her without hesitation. Despite everything that had happened, to him and to her, in the past several months, it was true.

“Well, good,” she replied, eyes soft. She returned the kiss.

A few days later, their idyllic start to the second week was interrupted by a call on Liz's cell phone. They had been having a late breakfast together on Liz's little deck. At the sound of her phone, Liz frowned a little and answered. “Reddington. I hope this is important, because--”

“I know you and Donald are taking some much-deserved vacation time,” the man's voice said, tinny to Ressler's ears, “so I wouldn't bother you if it weren't urgent, Lizzie. Would you be so good as to put this on speaker?”

Sighing, Liz did so. “All right, we can both hear you now. Speak.”

“I'll get right to the point,” Red said. “Lizzie, I have reason to believe you're in danger.”

Any feeling of relaxation that Ressler might have had vanished. “What kind of danger? From who?” he demanded.

“It appears to be the same source as the one who sent me the death threat that I had you attempt to identify, Donald,” said Red. “Only this person doesn't want Elizabeth dead. They just want her.”

Liz glanced at Ressler, and then back at the phone. “All right, I think it's time for you to tell me everything you know about this threat, Reddington,” she said. There was an edge to her voice. “Since it has to do with me directly now, too.”

Ressler heard the man sigh over the phone, and he tried to keep his own face free of guilt. But Liz looked pretty suspicious as they waited for his response.

“Lizzie, this isn't the time--” Reddington started to say, but Liz cut him off.

“Look, you called me with this,” she said sharply. “If you wanted to go behind my back and make some sort of stupid plan with Ressler to try to protect me from whatever this threat is without me knowing, you should have just called him. Because now that I know about it, I refuse to not be involved in the discussion of my own safety.”

Reddington sighed again. “Very well. In that case, I'll have Dembe send Donald a photo of the threat I received right now, so that you can see it before we talk further.”

“See it?” Liz frowned.

“You really do need to see it to get the message,” said Ressler. That made her give him a sharp look, but she didn't say anything further until his phone chimed. He took a breath before showing her the image, which he really didn't need to see again.

Liz stared at it for a good five seconds. Then she exclaimed, “What the _hell_ \-- Who sent this to you?!”

“The most important question right now,” said Red, “is why the person who sent it is so interested in you, Elizabeth. As you see, it's a very good likeness.”

She swallowed. “Yes, it is.” Glaring at Don, she asked them both, “What's the rest? What else do you know?”

“All I had Donald do was catalogue any scents he might be able to detect from the painting,” Red told her smoothly. “He didn't recognize them.”

“No, but I will if I run across them again,” said Don.

Nodding, Liz said, “Fine. I get that. But then you didn't tell me about this-- this painting, what it's a painting of. And you had to know that I'd want to know!”

“Don't chide Donald too severely, Lizzie,” Red put in. “I asked him not to tell you the details. Besides, we're getting off-topic again.”

“Yeah. We need to know what you know about this new threat,” Don said. Later, he was sure he and Liz would have to talk through the fact that he had failed to mention this during their discussion of his overprotectiveness several days ago. Honestly, it hadn't even occurred to him.

Reddington's next words chilled him to the bone. “It seems that someone has hired a sometime associate of Mr. Solomon's, and whoever hired this associate, that person has nearly unlimited resources. Before you ask, my sources within what remains of the Cabal assure me they are not behind this, and I'm inclined to believe them this time.”

“An associate of Solomon's.” Ressler tried to take a breath. “All right. What does that mean? Who is it?”

“All we know at the moment is that it's a woman, and she's assembled an impressive team to help her in her goal of obtaining Elizabeth for whoever it is who wants her.”

“How imminent is this threat?” Liz asked. Ressler could hear how her heart rate and breathing had been speeding up as Red delivered his news.

“Much closer at hand than I would like,” was the criminal's grim response. “I'm sorry, Elizabeth. There's no excuse I can offer for letting this get so close to you. The team I have stationed at your apartment may well not be enough – and everyone else who lives in the building will be at risk within mere hours if you stay there. You and Agent Ressler need to leave as soon as you can. My people will escort you to a safe house.”

“Whoa, whoa,” protested Ressler, standing up. His own heart was pounding. “One of your safe houses? You won't even consider letting the FBI take charge here? The Post Office--”

“Your black site has been breached before, as you yourself have especially good reason to remember, Donald,” the man cut in. “If this woman who's after Elizabeth was in contact with Solomon, we can be sure he knows about the Post Office. Now, are we going to keep wasting time discussing this, or are you two going to get ready and get downstairs?”

Liz and Don shared a look, and then Liz sighed and said, “All right. We'll be ready to go in five minutes.”

“Make it three,” said Reddington, and hung up.

“God,” muttered Liz, rubbing her hands over her face. “Um. Okay. Absolute essentials.”

“Liz, wait.” She stopped, on her way inside with her breakfast plate. “Are we just going to … do this, then?”

She stared. “I don't see that we have much of a choice,” she said, “unless you've got a better idea that you haven't shared with me yet.”

Sighing, he shook his head and picked up his own plate, following her quickly inside. “Not really. But I hope Reddington's people aren't going to take away our phones – or at least not until we have the chance to tell Cooper what's going on, at least.”

“Yeah, that'd be good.”

Ressler didn't have that much to gather as far as essential belongings, since this was Liz's apartment. He finished getting dressed, made sure he had both his FBI and personal weapons, stuffed a few things into his overnight bag, and went to see how Liz was doing. She looked to be finishing up as well. “You ready?”

“Just about,” she said. She grabbed her own duffel bag and went out into the main room. “Hudson! You want to go for a walk?”

At that magic word, the little dog came rushing over, barking in joyous excitement. He didn't seem to notice or care about the extra things both Ressler and Liz were carrying, running back and forth between them until they got to the door. Liz got his leash, and Ressler took her bag while she crouched down to attach it to her dog's collar.

When they got downstairs, the man Don had run into the other evening, the guy with the gray ponytail who was familiar as one of Red's men, was waiting on the sidewalk. “We need to move quickly,” he told them without preamble. “The car's this way.”

“Damn it,” said Liz, stopping a second later. “I forgot to get Hudson's food.”

Ushering them on, the man glanced at Hudson on the leash. “The dog? We'll get someone to make a run to a store for whatever you need as soon as you're safe, ma'am.”

“All right.”

~


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Continued thanks to Mack the Spoon for her beta. Any remaining mistakes are mine.

~

Don was pretty sure he hadn't relaxed for the whole car trip. Their escort had, in fact, allowed a short call to Cooper before they left the apartment building behind, and then he had 'requested' that they hand their phones over. Don hadn't really seen what happened to the devices after that. He was too busy staying alert, ready for the first sign that this team of enemies was on their trail. Even the fact that the rest of the SUV was full of heavily armed guards didn't lessen his anxiety at all.

But their late morning journey was free of signs of pursuit, at first. The driver (whom Don didn't recognize) took them on a route so circuitous that he began to be unsure what part of the city they were in. Unfortunately, that was also the part of the trip when the man with the ponytail got a phone call that looked to be bad news.

“What is it?” Liz asked, as soon as he hung up.

“We have multiple vehicles closing in on our location. Not friendlies.”

The driver swore. “How close?”

“A mile out, and getting closer.” The man pulled his weapon out of his holster. “How far out are we now?”

“A little over half a mile, if we cut out the detours,” said the driver.

“Do it.”

“How the hell did they find us?” Ressler demanded, resuming his paranoid survey of all the vehicles anywhere within sight out the windows. This was about to turn into a disaster. He could feel it.

The man with the ponytail shot him a look. “Let's worry about that when we get to the safe house.”

For a while, it seemed like they might even still make it there. The ponytail guy called ahead to warn Reddington about the situation, and Don heard Reddington say he was sending more backup. Meanwhile, they continued toward their goal – faster and much more direct than before.

Then their car turned down a smaller street – and they saw the other end blocked off by a phalanx of white SUVs with an accompanying squad of men in black tactical gear. Swearing, the driver threw the car into reverse and peeled out of the street. But they had only made it a few hundred feet away when other pursuers started to appear in the rearview mirror, as well as on parallel streets.

“How much further?” Don asked. He was trying to stay focused on the problem at hand, and not panic about the worst case scenario.

“Five minutes – if no one gets in the way,” was the driver's reassuring response.

“This is insane,” Liz said, suddenly and loudly, causing her dog to whimper at her feet. “What the hell do these people want with me? This amount of firepower – it's insane!”

Don had to sympathize with her. To have been a fugitive from the law not so long ago, and now to be hunted by a group whose aims were obviously sinister … 'insane' was a good word for what kept happening to her.

They drove for another two minutes before their pursuers caught up to them again. The rest of the men in their vehicle started to fire at the SUVs behind them. This had some effect. Their pursuers did not return fire, though most of them backed off just enough to be out of range.

Don, not able to participate in keeping the ones behind them out of range due to where his seat was, watched the cars on the parallel streets. They would be closing in any minute now, and he would be ready. He was watching so fixedly that it took him a few moments to notice that Liz had a gun at the ready as well. He didn't remember her being given one by any of Red's people, so where had it come from? But then he shook his head. That wasn't important right now. She needed to be armed; that was the crucial thing.

When their path forward was halted by yet another blockade of enemy vehicles, Don felt his heart sink. There were no side streets that weren't also blocked off, and Red's men hadn't taken out all the cars behind them, either (though their number had been reduced). They were trapped now. Their driver came to a slow stop, and everyone in the car brought their weapons up. No one was shooting, but the atmosphere could not have been more tense.

A woman stepped out of one of the vehicles in front of them, one hand raised while the other held a megaphone. “Everyone, hold your fire,” she said, projecting through the device. Her forces lowered their weapons. “We're here for Elizabeth Keen,” she went on, “and we want her alive. No one has to die, or even be injured. Send her out, and we can all be on our way.”

No one in the car looked even the tiniest bit tempted to agree to this offer. Don hadn't really expected they would. One thing could be said about the people Reddington trusted to look after Liz: they were worthy of that trust.

“If we don't see Keen getting out of your car in one minute,” the woman said, sounding annoyed, “we'll go to our plan B, which is to force her – and the rest of you – out of that car with tear gas. And then we'll take Keen, and kill all the rest of you.”

Liz looked at Don, and then faced forward. “I'm just going to say it,” she said, low enough that no one outside the car would hear it. “I don't want all of you to die trying to protect me, when we know we're massively outnumbered and outgunned. If I go with them--”

“No,” he cut in immediately. “Not a chance. You just heard that woman – sure, they'd rather take you alive, but they don't exactly inspire confidence that they want you healthy.”

“Yeah, but Ressler, I'm not just going to _let_ all of you--”

“Ma'am,” interrupted the guy with the ponytail, “all due respect, but we aren't going to just let you leave, either.”

Before Liz could do more than look furious at this, the woman with the megaphone announced, “Thirty more seconds.” That appeared to be the signal for the men with her to put on gas masks.

Liz turned her furious stare on Don. “So if I try to leave the car, are you going to grab my arm, Ressler?”

He scoffed. “Liz, you're my partner. If I can stop you from rushing into a dangerous situation, I will. You'd do the same for me.”

“Fifteen seconds. Make the right decision here.” The woman's voice broke in once more, sounding more urgent.

Ressler took a breath, readying himself to fire as soon as their time ran out. This was, as Liz had pointed out, likely to end in a bloodbath – but he couldn't see any acceptable way around that.

At that moment, the sound of multiple vehicle engines approaching the area became audible – to Ressler, anyway. He sat up. “We're about to have more company.”

The ponytail guy looked at him oddly, but then the engines got closer, and the rest of the occupants of the car were able to hear them. Their enemies outside clearly did, as well. The woman barked orders, without the megaphone this time, and a good portion of the men in combat gear slipped off the masks and turned to face the new arrivals.

“Red's reinforcements,” Liz breathed.

“Got to be,” he agreed. That was the first piece of good news they'd had in a while.

The only bad news about the arriving vehicles – some of which, Ressler was surprised but pleased to see, were FBI-issue black SUVs – was that they were potentially in the line of fire from anyone in this car attempting to target their enemies. But the new arrivals were no doubt aware of that risk. As soon as they were in range, the armed men surrounding Liz and the others started to fire. Ressler and everyone else in the car joined in.

Some of their enemies were now shooting at their trapped quarry in the middle of it all. Windows that had been cracked open now shattered, scattering glass shards everywhere. Even over the absolute din of the firefight, Don heard Hudson whimpering, crouched as far down against the floor and under the front seat as he possibly could get. He spared the poor dog a moment of pity. This was no place for a helpless animal.

The deafening exchange of weapons fire lasted for what was probably only a few minutes before it became clear that Reddington's reinforcements were turning the tide. That was a relief. Don was nearly out of ammo, and he didn't know if there would be more available to him. And transforming wasn't going to be much help in this situation; it would likely just make him a larger target while he got in the way of the others inside here.

He had barely finished this thought when his attention was caught by movement among the closest vehicles surrounding them. It looked like a group of men were moving something large into position. _Holy shit._

The man with the ponytail must have seen it at about the same time. “They're setting up a bazooka!” he yelled. “We have to take them out, or get the hell out of here!”

There was, of course, still no way out of there. Don, Liz, and the others all concentrated their fire immediately on the men setting up cover for the guy with the shoulder-mounted rocket launcher. That was effective for a while; many of the men around the weapon fell. But more came, and more. Don ran out of bullets. He had just taken his eyes off the scene for a moment to ask for more ammo from the back when he heard it: the distinctive sound of a rocket being fired.

“No!”

There was only a second to act. He flung himself in front of Liz, pulling her down off the seat to the ground. Then it hit. Then there was an explosion, and then a terrible jolt, and blackness.

~  
Someone touched him on the throat. Then he was being pulled and half-lifted, though he had no idea by whom. Whoever it was was speaking loudly and urgently, but the ringing in his ears was too loud for him to make out the words. He could open his eyes, though, he realized.

When he did so, he met the frantic gaze of Harold Cooper, bending over him and still speaking. Ressler still couldn't hear hardly at all, but he could read the man's lips. Cooper was asking if he was okay.

A second later, it came over him why Cooper would be asking this. The explosion. Liz!

Hastily, Ressler sat up, only for his vision to swim as he nearly collapsed again. Cooper and – maybe there was someone else there, too, but he had to shut his eyes again so he wasn't sure – helped him lie back down. The ringing started to fade, although the headache that sitting up had brought on was still going strong. “Take it easy, Don,” Cooper was saying. “We're getting you and Liz to a hospital.”

“No,” said another voice. Reddington. “No hospitals, Harold. If these people were able to track Elizabeth's vehicle and surround it despite my team's and my driver's precautions, they will be able to locate her in a hospital.”

“Reddington, where did you take her? She needs immediate medical attention!” Cooper replied. He sounded worried. Very worried, in fact. Ressler struggled to open his eyes again but failed. “They both do!”

“My people are already taking care of her, and they can do so for Donald as well if he comes along,” was Reddington's response. “The preparations are in place. Meanwhile, your people would be best served tracking down those who escaped from this confrontation – especially that woman who seemed to be in charge – and finding out who hired them.”

There was a pause, and then Don heard the sound of multiple people coming closer. “Don,” said Cooper's voice again, “Don, can you hear me?”

Don managed to open his eyes this time. “Yeah,” he said. It wasn't very easy to focus on his boss's face, but he did. There were, in fact, lots of other people around them, including Reddington.

“Reddington wants to take you somewhere off the grid to get you the medical treatment you need, with Liz,” said Cooper with a frown. “Are you okay with this?”

It took him a few seconds to process this – during which time he was loaded onto a stretcher by, he assumed, more of Red's people. Finally he swallowed and said, “If it's the best way to keep Liz safe, then yes.”

“I assure you, it is,” said Reddington, from out of his line of sight. “I would also suggest that you might be safe enough to go to a regular hospital, with an FBI guard accompanying you, if you wish, Donald, but I have an idea you wouldn't agree with that plan.”

“No,” he said immediately. That didn't take any deliberation at all to answer.

“I thought as much. Now, we really must move, Harold. I will see to it that you receive regular updates.”

“All right.” He still didn't sound pleased. There was another brief pause. Ressler felt himself start to move, but the motion made him dizzy enough that he shut his eyes again, just as Cooper said, “Don't make me regret trusting you with their lives, Reddington.”

If Reddington replied, Don didn't hear it. He was rushed away from the scene of the attack. Once he was loaded into the back of some vehicle that definitely wasn't an ambulance, a woman who looked to be a nurse started to check him over. He winced as she shone a penlight into his eyes. “Looks like we have head trauma, possible low- to mid-grade concussion,” she said – to who, Don didn't know. “Sir, do you know where you are, and what day it is?”

The answers were there, he knew they were – but his thoughts were sluggish. “Somewhere on the outskirts of DC,” he said after what seemed like a very long pause, “and, um, it's still Tuesday.”

“Good. And your name?”

It didn't take quite as long for him to respond this time, though it was still longer than it should be. “Donald Ressler.” He tried to turn his head, and winced again. “Where-- Elizabeth Keen, is she in another car?”

“I wouldn't know that, sir, but if she was injured at the scene, I imagine so,” said the nurse. “Please lie still. Are you experiencing any other pain, besides your head?”

He frowned but tried to assess himself. “Uh...” It was kind of hard to tell. He felt pretty detached at the moment. “Maybe? My side...” When he reached for the spot on his right side, the pain became more definite, and his hand came away wet.

The nurse grabbed his hand, and then her eyes widened. “I need the shears, now,” she barked, to someone Ressler couldn't see.

“What? What is it?” Ressler attempted to look down at his side, but that motion triggered another bout of dizziness. He shut his eyes.

A few seconds later, he felt the nurse cutting away his shirt. She pulled away the ruined fabric, and the pain at the site increased. He took a sharp breath.

The nurse inhaled sharply as well. “Notify base that we have an incoming adult male, GSW to the lower right side,” she announced. Ressler felt her reach under his side, and he couldn't hold back a cry of pain. “Exit wound is present, as well as evidence of internal bleeding.”

He'd been shot? Ressler tried to open his eyes. How had he missed that? The last time had been pretty impossible to ignore.

“Sir! Sir, do you know your blood type?”

The nurse had to repeat the question at least once before Ressler could answer. “Um … it's B positive,” he said. His eyes fluttered open for a second, but he couldn't seem to keep them that way. The last thing he remembered was the feel of something being pressed onto the bullet's entry wound – but even that sharp pain wasn't enough to keep him conscious for long.

When he woke up, he was lying in a hospital bed surrounded by sheer plastic curtains. There was a heart monitor hooked to him, and an IV, and a bag of blood which was presumably in the process of being transfused. There was also an oxygen line in his nose. He was wearing a hospital gown, though it only took him a few seconds to realize/remember that he wasn't in a hospital. This had to be Red's safe house. There was light inside his little plastic cubicle, but outside of it was dark enough that it was difficult to see much other than vague shapes.

He was about to call out to ask if anyone was there, but then he decided to listen and see what he could find out, first. Thankfully, his ears didn't seem to have been permanently damaged in the blast.

There were more than a half dozen people nearby, and they were all inside a much larger space than it had seemed at first. A warehouse, maybe. Based on the few scents he could distinguish under the thick, cloying smell of disinfectant, he thought he could identify Reddington as having been here recently – and Liz. In fact, when he inhaled deeply, he could smell... He clenched his fists, hearing his heart rate speed up on the monitor. That was Liz's blood.

Just seconds later, Don heard the sound of someone coming closer. A woman with a severe expression and short, graying hair came through into his 'room'. She was faintly familiar – one of Red's people. “Agent Ressler,” she said, with a nod, as she looked him over. “You're looking much better than you did when you arrived here.”

“I'll have to take your word on that,” he replied. “Is Liz here? Is-- is she all right?”

The woman hesitated. “Elizabeth is here, yes,” she said, “and she's alive.”

That was not reassuring. He felt cold all of a sudden. “Alive? That's the best news you can tell me?”

“I'm afraid so,” she said. “Her injuries were much more severe than yours. She was thrown out of the vehicle as a result of the explosion, and the impact caused a bleed in her brain.”

Ressler felt all the air leave his lungs. A bleed in her brain.

“Our surgeon was able to relieve the pressure inside her skull with a minimally invasive procedure,” the woman continued, “but it's too early to tell what kind of long-term effects the damage might have had on her. She's in a medically-induced coma, and she'll stay in it for at least a few days, most likely.”

It took him several more seconds to be able to take even close to a full breath. This was … this wasn't supposed to happen. He swallowed and tried to keep breathing. “Can I see her?”

The woman's severe expression softened, but she shook her head. “Agent Ressler, you've just barely begun recovering from abdominal surgery after a gunshot wound. You also have a concussion. You need rest.”

“I'll sit in a wheelchair,” Ressler said. “Or hell, I bet this bed moves. I'm not asking to do anything strenuous. I just want to see her.”

“Fine,” said the woman. “I'll see what I can do.”

She left him there for a short while, returning with a guy Ressler didn't know, dressed in scrubs. “Agent Ressler,” said the man, with a brief, exhausted smile. “I hear you'd like to visit Liz.”

 _'Liz'?_ Don blinked at the man. He decided he'd ask later about this guy's evident familiarity with her. “Yes, I would. Are you the doctor?”

“I am, and I'm going to need to check your vitals before you go anywhere – even if you aren't planning to go under your own power.”

Don supposed that was reasonable. He waited while the doctor checked his pupils, his temperature, gave the bandage on his side a quick look, and checked his blood pressure. “Everything looks good,” the doctor reported after he was finished. “But like Kate told you, you really do need plenty of rest, so your visit will have to be short.”

“Got it,” said Don with a nod. He did feel tired, but he needed to see Liz.

When they helped him sit up a bit and wheeled his bed the short distance to Liz's bed, Don had to remind himself to breathe again. She looked so small, so pale and still. There was a little bandage on one side of her head, her eyes were closed, and she was on a respirator. At least her heartbeat was strong and steady on the monitor beside her.

That was when he saw who was sitting in the chair by the bed. It was Reddington, of course. The man had to have noticed Ressler's arrival, but he hadn't looked away from Liz's face right away. He only did so when the woman (whom the doctor had called “Kate”) pushed aside the plastic curtain. “Raymond, she has another visitor.”

“Of course,” said Reddington. He tried for a smile at that point, but it was extremely unconvincing. “Hello, Donald. You seem to be doing better.”

“I guess so,” he said. His gaze went back to Liz, and he felt his fear and grief rise yet further.

The two men sat in silence for a while. “How long is she going to be in the coma?” Ressler asked finally.

“Nik tells me forty-eight hours will be sufficient to make certain she's stable,” Reddington replied. “After that, he'll take her off the meds that are keeping her under.”

“And … and we're safe here? She's safe here?”

“No one will find this place,” said Red, his voice nearly a growl. “No one.”

Ressler nodded. That was good to hear – although he assumed that meant Cooper and the rest of the task force had no idea where they were, either. There were other questions Ressler wanted to ask, but he was quickly running out of energy.

“I'm going to take you back so you can sleep now, Agent Ressler,” said Kate. “Elizabeth will be carefully looked-after in the meantime. We can promise you that much.”

To his ears, there had been something odd about the way the woman said that last sentence. But he was too tired to think about it for the moment. He looked at Liz one more time, then shut his eyes as he was wheeled away.

~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, I know I promised I wasn't going to take as long to post this next chapter. Er... sorry about that. A combination of writer's block and frustration with the show hit me for a while.
> 
> Thanks to those who are still reading and commenting!


	11. Chapter 11

~  
By the next time Don woke up, it was near evening and he was significantly better. Even Nik, the doctor, admitted with some surprise that his patient was well enough not to have to lie around in a hospital bed for the rest of the day (not that there was much of the day left). “But you still need to take it easy,” he said. “I'm guessing Liz wouldn't be too thrilled with you pushing yourself too hard, and ending up taking yourself out of commission for even longer.”

“Okay, now I have to ask,” said Don, as he swung his legs over the edge of the bed in preparation to get the clothes that some of Red's people had brought for him. As far as he was concerned, getting out of the hospital gown and into real clothes as soon as possible would have to make the rest of this experience just slightly less awful. “How do you know Liz? You're obviously not just a doctor that Reddington found somewhere.”

The man gave him a wry look. “No, you're right. I'm not. I'm the guy Liz convinced to help save Reddington's life when he got shot last year, and I was dumb enough not to say no to the money Kate Kaplan offered me afterward.”

Don raised his eyebrows. Well, it was no wonder Reddington would want to have this guy at his beck and call, if he was a good enough surgeon to save his life. “So Liz must have known you before then?”

“You could say that. We were engaged, before she met Tom Keen,” was Nik's answer. He smiled and shook his head at the reaction Don couldn't quite conceal. “Don't worry. I'm not looking to rekindle anything with her at any point. I'm just impressed at how she's obviously continued to inspire devotion from the men in her life.”

There was nothing Don had to say in response to that. He just stood up, carefully, and walked over to the little table that had his clothes. His side hurt, but not too badly.

“Hey, whatever happened to Keen, anyway?” Nik asked, turning around just as he was about to leave Don's cubicle. “I would've thought he'd be here if he were still in the picture.”

“He's dead,” Ressler said shortly. “Shot.”

Nik's jaw dropped. “Wow. Let me guess: protecting Liz in some way?”

With a trace of reluctance, he nodded. That was not exactly a time period that he enjoyed bringing to mind. Plus, he could imagine how poorly Liz would react to these questions.

The doctor laughed once without amusement, shaking his head again. “Like I said.”

~

Reddington told Ressler that he had given Cooper a brief update on how his agents were doing while Ressler was asleep. Cooper, in turn, had told Red that Aram had traced a discarded piece of equipment left behind by the team targeting Liz to find a lead about its origins. “Quite high-tech and top of the line gear, apparently,” the criminal said. “He thinks he'll be able to narrow down who could have purchased it.”

The two of them were sitting in chairs by Liz's bedside. There had been no change in her condition – which was a good thing, or so Nik said.

“Good,” Ressler said, in response to Cooper's update. He wanted to be with the team, tracking down whoever had done this, since he knew there was nothing direct he could do for Liz right now. But even if he hadn't just taken a bullet, he'd still be sidelined by Bureau policy. He wasn't through with his therapy. Come to think of it, this new trauma was probably going to add to his long list of issues. He sighed. At least he hadn't had a panic attack yet.

As it turned out, Don ended up almost wishing he could spend the rest of the day asleep. It was dull to be awake in the safe house, with nothing to do – and somehow the boredom was even worse because of the constant tension of whether or not their enemies would be able to find them here … not to mention the question of whether Liz was going to be okay.

It didn't exactly relax him to eat dinner in a group of people that he either didn't know by more than sight, or that he knew for sure normally worked to support Raymond Reddington's criminal empire. Sure, he was pleased to learn that there had been few casualties among Red's people during the explosion – he didn't wish any of them ill, especially after they risked their lives for Liz. But that didn't mean he felt comfortable sharing a meal with the ones who weren't on guard duty when dinner arrived.

He was quiet as he ate the bland, post-surgery food that Nik prescribed. The others were eating more interesting fare, but he was hardly going to worry about that right now.

After he ate, Ressler realized there was a question he should ask Reddington's people, though he doubted he would get a satisfactory answer. Liz would want to know either way, though, if-- _when_ she was recovered. He went to find Kate Kaplan standing outside Liz's cubicle.

“Agent Ressler,” she said, giving him a small smile as he approached, slowly, leaning on the cane the doctor had given him. “How are you feeling?”

“All right,” he answered, truthfully enough. The bullet wound still hurt, of course, but the painkillers they had him on did their job for the most part. They weren't as effective as opioids would be, which was hardly a surprise. But he didn't want to give his addiction any chance to take control, so he wasn't going to complain. “Look, uh, I have a question that I'm hoping you'll be able to answer for me.”

“What's that, dear?” The woman's gaze had turned back to where Liz slept.

Faintly startled at the endearment, Ressler nonetheless went on, “Did anyone who was at the scene see what happened to Liz's dog? He was in the car with us when they fired off the bazooka.”

Kaplan faced him again, eyebrows raised. “Her dog was in the car?”

“Yeah.” He held his breath. This was not bad news that he wanted to give to Liz.

“Well, I'm fairly certain no animal remains were recovered from the scene,” she told him. “I'll check just to be sure, but I don't think I'm wrong. Perhaps he was able to flee to safety.”

“Maybe.” If so, that was better news than he had feared, he thought, looking at the blurred shape of Liz through the plastic curtains. He still wasn't the little dog's biggest fan, even after the two of them made their peace, but he recognized his appeal. Besides, Liz cared about Hudson. And Don cared about Liz.

Kaplan was still watching him, he realized. When he met her eyes, she smiled again, though it looked sad. “You're a good man, Agent Ressler. You shouldn't have been caught up in this.”

“I'm not going to be anywhere else, with Liz in danger from these people,” he said, maybe more sharply than was necessary.

The woman shook her head. “Of course not. I meant that neither of you should have been caught up in this.”

“Oh.” Don blinked. He had no disagreement with that. Reddington's entrance into Liz's life had caused her more than enough hardship, long before this kidnapping attempt. While it was obvious that the criminal had never intended for any of this to happen, the fact was that it kept happening. Liz kept getting hurt. This was her worst physical injury yet... And it had been incurred while she was on her way to one of Reddington's safe houses.

Fighting back a flash of anger that wasn't going to do any good right now, Don thanked Kaplan and went back to his 'room'. It was, at least, kind of private. He supposed it was sort of a privilege, that he and Liz were the only patients at this particular site; anyone else under Red's protection was at some other location.

Despite his anxiety and dissatisfaction with the situation, Ressler ended up falling asleep without much trouble. It was staying asleep that turned out to be the problem.

Of course this latest disaster would be enough to bring on nightmares, he thought to himself, when he had finally started to calm down after waking up from the latest horrific offering from his subconscious. He just had to hope he hadn't been too loud this time. At least he had avoided hurting himself too much when he thrashed awake. The site of the bullet wound wasn't bleeding. Plus, it didn't seem like he had started to transform in his sleep, either. All of his clothes were still intact. That didn't mean it was easy to relax now, though.

He didn't really sleep for more than a few minutes at a time after that. Still, somehow, time dragged on in the warehouse. He got up, had half a shower in the very utilitarian bathroom (awkwardly avoiding his injury site), and ate a bland breakfast. Cooper called Dembe to ask Reddington for an update, and Reddington was all right with Don talking to him for a few minutes. As far as an update on the task force, Cooper didn't have much yet.

“However, Agent Navabi will be taking a team out in just a few minutes to one of a few possible sources of the sophisticated surveillance that was used to track you and Liz yesterday,” his boss said. “Aram was able to narrow down the possibilities for locations.”

“That's good to hear, sir,” Don replied. It was, in fact, the first really encouraging news he'd heard in a while. “Keep us posted if you can.”

“I will, Don,” Cooper promised. “You and Liz get some rest, get back on your feet. And stay safe.”

“We'll do our best.”

Eventually, it reached about forty-eight hours since he and Liz had arrived here. That meant it was time to start easing Liz off the drugs that were keeping her in the coma. Ressler waited outside her cubicle, unable to be calm enough to sit down despite Kate Kaplan's encouragement to do so. Reddington was actively pacing.

The three of them – four, when you counted Dembe standing silently a few steps behind Reddington – kept quiet as they watched the door to the cubicle. Nik was in there, with a nurse to assist him. From what he had said, Ressler knew there was no way to be sure how Liz was going to react when she woke up. She could be just fine … or she could show evidence of lasting damage from the head injury. His hands were in fists at his sides, and he was pretty sure he wasn't going to be able to relax them until he knew whether his partner was going to be okay.

The suspense built for an interminable number of minutes. Then Ressler heard Nik speak, though it was very quiet. “Hi, Liz. You're safe, you're in an undisclosed location, recovering from a head injury you sustained in an explosion. Do you remember?”

There was silence from Liz for so long that Ressler was sure his fingernails had cut into his palms. Then, finally, his straining ears heard a weak rasp that was still identifiable as her voice: “Nik? What are you doing here?”

“I'm part of Reddington's team now,” the man replied. Ressler could hear the irony in his voice. “He wasn't about to let go of a doctor who's got skills and a willingness to take his money.”

Liz was quiet again. “I'm sorry,” she said next. “I shouldn't have brought you--”

“Liz, I'm a big boy,” Nik interrupted gently. “I accept responsibility for my own actions. Don't apologize. Besides, I'm talking to you as your doctor right now, trying to find out how you're doing. Do you remember the explosion?”

Another pause. “Ressler! Is he--?”

“He's fine. He was a little banged-up, but he's doing well. Waiting impatiently just outside here, I'm guessing.” Nik sounded a bit amused now. “So I take it you do remember, then.”

“Yes.”

“Good. How are your pain levels?”

“Okay.”

Liz didn't stay awake for too long after that. She was already fading when she asked to see Don. Her eyes were only half-open when he came in, though he could tell she was making an effort to stay awake. “Hey.”

“Hey,” he greeted her, smiling in genuine joy and relief even as he continued to be struck by how frail she looked. “It's really good to see you awake and talking.”

She returned the smile, and then yawned. “Nik said you were hurt?” She looked him over, worry creasing her brow.

“Yeah, I hit my head, but not nearly as hard as you did,” he told her, sitting down and taking her hand. “And I got a few stitches in my side, too. Nothing too major, though.” He'd save the details for later.

Liz gave him a mildly suspicious look, which turned into another yawn. “Sorry,” she mumbled. “They've got me on some strong stuff, I guess.”

Don smiled again, and leaned down to kiss her on the forehead. “Not a problem, Liz. Get some sleep. I know you need it.”

She blinked slowly and nodded. As he was getting up from the chair, she opened her eyes again. “I'd like to talk to Red for a few minutes before I drop off, if he's around.”

“Oh, he's around, all right,” he said, keeping any irritation and bitterness out of his tone. “He's hardly left your side.”

Liz didn't seem surprised. She just asked him to tell Red to come in.

Reddington was, in fact, waiting just outside the plastic curtains – sitting, this time. He stood as soon as Ressler came out. “How is she?”

“Ask her yourself,” he said, but he didn't bother trying to hide his continued relief. “She wants to see you.”

Reddington appeared to relax, minutely, even as he stood up. “Thank you, Donald.”

Ressler decided he didn't want to overhear whatever Liz had to say to Red. He picked up the cane he had left outside her cubicle and made his slow way back to his 'room'. She was okay. Now, the remaining question was when they were going to be allowed to leave here. When it would be safe for her to leave this heavily guarded warehouse and rejoin her normal life.

As he was contemplating this, he heard the sound of a phone ringing, close to where Liz was – where Red and therefore Dembe were. Not long after that, Reddington came hurrying to Don's cubicle. “Donald,” he said without preamble, “your task force has found something that requires my attention. Dembe and I will be heading out immediately.”

“What did they find?” He debated standing up, but decided to stay seated for the moment. If Cooper had called Dembe (to reach Red) and hadn't even asked to talk to his own agent, he didn't really know how to feel about that.

“Suffice it to say, I have very good reason to believe I know who attempted to kidnap Elizabeth. I'm going to send this woman a message.”

At that he shot to his feet – too fast, such that Red had to grab his arm to keep him from falling right back down. “Relax, Donald. Don't hurt yourself,” he said, eyebrows raised. “I'll keep you informed of any progress we make toward answers – and toward justice.”

“You mean revenge,” Don put in sharply, as he sat down.

“In my experience, the two terms are practically synonymous,” was Reddington's matter-of-fact response. Then he smiled without mirth. “But never fear. Those in charge of this operation will be kept alive until I'm absolutely certain of their guilt – and certain there's no one else whose involvement they're attempting to hide.”

That was hardly reassuring – except that it was, sort of. Don sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. If someone had told the Donald Ressler of even three years ago that he would be almost relieved to let Raymond Reddington “send a message” to a criminal who had attempted to kidnap his partner, that Ressler would not have believed it. That Ressler would have been offended, in fact.

As it turned out, Reddington's return to the warehouse some hours later coincided with a sudden shriek of alarms from Liz's cubicle. Nik rushed in, along with two nurses. “She's crashing!” he yelled, and began to shout for the nurses to bring the crash cart, among other things.

Don only turned away from the unfolding disaster for a second, when Reddington came running to stand next to him at the entrance to her cubicle. “What's going on?” he called out, jacket and hat askew.

“I don't know exactly what happened yet,” Nik called back, with a clear edge of panic to his voice, “but it looks like it could be an embolism, a blood clot in her lungs.” He continued to give instructions to the nurses, while the equipment surrounding Liz continued to make its shrill sounds of alarm.

Her heart wasn't beating, Don realized. One of those alarms was because her heart had stopped beating. And if there was a blood clot blocking a vein or an artery in her lungs, she probably wasn't breathing, either. He made himself let out his own breath, and take another one.

There was a frenzy of activity around Liz for some unfathomable amount of time. Ressler could hear everything the doctor and the nurses were saying, but it mostly washed over him like meaningless noise. Liz was dying. That was what all of it meant. If they couldn't save her... His brain couldn't process what would happen after that, except for one thing he knew he would have to do. But right now, he was focusing all of his energy on the woman struggling to survive in the cubicle in front of him. And then finally, _finally_ , the alarm for her heart ceased. In its place could be heard the steady beep of a normal heart rhythm.

A second later, Red strode forward and pushed his way through the hanging plastic door. “Is she stable?”

Ressler hurried over to the doorway as well. There was Liz, her eyes closed and face pale, obscured by the oxygen mask. He could hardly look away. Meanwhile, though, Nik sighed, wiped his brow with his sleeve, and said, “Yes, she seems to be. It looks like we were able to break up the clot and restore normal blood flow.”

Red closed his eyes, just for a moment, and then stared at Liz's face. “Good. Thank you, Nik.”

The doctor was staring at his patient as well, with a hard-to-read expression on his face. “Don't thank me just yet,” he said to Reddington. “We'll be monitoring her very closely and we have her on a low dose of blood thinners, but there's still a danger that another blockage could occur. Her body might not be able to handle the stress of that on top of everything else, if another one develops.”

“Then see that it doesn't,” was Red's brittle reply.

“How long do you think we'll have to wait before we know if she's out of the woods?” Ressler asked.

Nik sighed again. “Another day at least, to be safe.”

After that, Ressler waited just long enough for Reddington to leave Liz's cubicle ahead of him, and to make his way a safe distance from Liz. Then he couldn't wait any longer. He followed. “Reddington.”

Maybe Red had noticed something in his tone, or maybe not. Either way, the man turned around slowly. “Yes, Donald?”

“If she dies, it's on you,” he growled, stepping much closer to stare Red directly in the face. He was aware that Dembe had come closer now as well, but he decided he didn't care.

Red didn't step back. Instead, he just met Ressler's gaze calmly from where he was, inches away, although Ressler could hear that his heart was beating faster than normal. “I see. And what does that mean, practically?”

The image of Liz flatlining refused to leave his mind, and he found himself grabbing Reddington's jacket collar. “It means you'll be next,” he said, through clenched teeth. Blood pounded in his ears, and his breaths were harsh.

There was a hand on his shoulder now. Without releasing Red, Don turned to face Dembe. The bodyguard's expression was grim, but not angry. “Agent Ressler, stop. I don't wish to hurt you.”

A significant part of him wanted to channel his fury at what Reddington's actions had caused into attacking Dembe – but most of him recognized that, not only was Dembe not at fault in any meaningful way, but also he himself was in no shape to be the man's opponent. Even this level of exertion was making his head ache, and the wound in his side was throbbing. Plus, as if he needed the added reminder, he could hear other members of Red's crew gathering very nearby.

It took effort to release his grip on Red's coat and step back, but after a few seconds, Don did so. Red, whose expression had hardly changed during all of this, nodded to him. Then he spoke, somewhat loudly. “Let's everyone get back to work now, shall we?”

Don didn't turn around as he listened to the sounds of the other men (aside from Dembe) dispersing. In the background, if he really listened for it, he could also still hear the rhythm of Liz's heart monitor. It was steady, for the moment at least.

“Donald,” said Red then, causing him to raise his eyes, “have I ever mentioned how much I admire the way you continue to adhere to your principles, even after everything you've been through?”

Don stared at him. The man was smiling, just the slightest bit, right after... “I could've killed you just then. I wanted to,” Don said. It chilled him to admit it, even though his anger had not quite faded. “That would have been murder. So I don't know what the hell you're talking about.”

“Leaving aside the issue of how quickly Dembe would have stopped you had you really tried to carry out that desire,” Reddington replied, “yes, you could have killed me. But you didn't, and that's what I was referring to.”

He considered for a moment, and then nodded once. Just because this was the closest he had ever come to following through on a desire to kill Reddington...

“And by the way,” the man went on, “I'll tell you now that if Elizabeth dies, I fully accept that I am the ultimate cause. I wouldn't deny my responsibility. However, I would also ask that in that eventuality, please withhold your not unreasonable response to my guilt until those who tried to kidnap her are found and dealt with. After that...” He trailed off, and for an instant Ressler saw his own fear and grief reflected in Red's eyes, not to mention despair. “After that, my work will be finished, regardless.”

The rest of Don's anger drained away. Did he really mean...?

A voice from behind them both startled Don. “How about both of you stop being self-destructive and prematurely vengeful, and try something useful instead?”

When he turned around, it was the Kaplan woman, her arms crossed. Most of her disapproval seemed directed at Red, but she glared at him for a few seconds, as well. “Raymond, I believe you've made some progress in finding out who's responsible for this attack. Perhaps you'd like to update Agent Ressler?”

“Yes. Thank you, Kate,” said Reddington. He took a deep breath. Then, as if their previous confrontation and conversation hadn't ever happened, he gave Don a concerned look. “Donald, you should sit down. You're not looking very well, if you don't mind my saying. Paler even than usual.”

“Would you stop saying it if I did mind?” he muttered in response, but went back over to sit at one of the tables that had been set up, nonetheless. At least when he checked, the gunshot wound was still not bleeding. The last thing he wanted was to sideline himself for even longer now, when Liz was going to need him more than ever. When she woke up. When she got better.

There was no 'if'.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone still remembers this story exists ... thank you for reading! I apologize for the delay (again!) in posting a new chapter. The last half of season three left me so frustrated that I got stuck in this chapter, even though I've had most of it written for a while now.
> 
> If you notice any familiar dialogue from various late season 3 eps, that is intentional.
> 
> Also, I'm sure my description of the various medical issues is lacking, though I did my best to research. Feel free to give me feedback about that if you know more than I do.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This contains extremely minor spoilers for season 4, but nothing much beyond what was shown in the promo for the season premiere.

~  
One day later, Don was watching, holding his breath as Nik and a nurse helped Liz get into her wheelchair. It was clear the activity was causing her pain, but she had insisted she didn't want to be moved on a stretcher unless it was medically necessary. And Nik hadn't said it was. She had consented to lying down in the ambulance when they got to it, though. That was a relief, to the doctor as well as Ressler and Reddington.

“All right. If you're ready, Liz?” Nik asked his patient, from behind her chair. Don would have been only too willing to be the one who helped push the chair, but the doctor had forbidden such strenuous activity.

“Yeah,” breathed Liz, shutting her eyes for a moment. She was almost panting with the effort.

They were leaving the warehouse at last, though still under heavy guard. Red had gotten Susan Hargrave's people off Liz's back – exactly how, he hadn't specified, though Don was sure it involved plenty of violence and threats. And although the man who had hired Hargrave, Alexander Kirk, was still at large, the threat was not so immediate now that his initial plot had been foiled. Or so Reddington promised, anyway.

So now the whole group, including an FBI escort as well as some of Red's team, was bringing Liz – and Don – back to Liz's apartment. Security had been beefed up, with additional guards added to rotations both at the building and nearby. The FBI and Red's people were both looking into this Alexander Kirk, attempting to track him down.

And most importantly, Liz was doing okay. She was weak, in pain, and was going to have a long recovery ahead of her, but she was stable and hadn't shown any signs of permanent damage from any of her medical trauma. Which wasn't to say there weren't going to be any long-term effects, of course.

Ressler was allowed to sit in the back of the ambulance with Liz as the convoy traveled to her apartment. All the EMTs had to do was monitor Liz's vital signs to make sure they stayed steady, so he wasn't in the way.

While they drove, Don couldn't help being reminded of the aftermath of the attack on Liz in the grocery store parking lot. That hadn't been all that long ago, and here she was again, recovering from yet another attack. The fact that the man who had been behind this one hadn't wanted to kill Liz didn't make it any better. It had still meant that she almost died twice.

It was another big production getting the two of them inside Liz's apartment. Even with the wheelchair and the elevator, it took a while to get Liz out of the ambulance, what with all of the equipment that was coming along with her. Ressler ended up agreeing to wait on the ground floor so that it all could fit in with her, along with Dembe and the live-in nurse who would be staying with them for at least a day or two. This woman had been thoroughly vetted by the FBI and even given Reddington's people's stamp of approval, so Ressler figured she was trustworthy enough. He wished he could do all the things that Liz was going to need himself, but the fact was, he couldn't. Not until they were both physically better.

And he still had a ways to go, Don admitted to himself when he got into the apartment. Walking from the vehicle to the building, and then the short distance from the elevator to where Liz was, had almost winded him. Hopefully his accelerated healing would mean that kind of thing didn't happen for much longer.

Despite the fact that he knew the nurse, Sarah, was perfectly competent to oversee it herself, Don found himself standing and watching while she got Liz settled into bed and set up the various monitoring equipment that Liz still needed nearby. Or at least, he stood there until both Liz and Sarah told him to go sit down. At that, he made his slow way back into the living room and sat down on the couch with a sigh. It was odd to think it, but he kind of missed Hudson.

A week passed. Don's injuries healed well. Within a few days, he was nearly back to normal, physically speaking, and was therefore able to take over most of the work that Sarah had been doing. Liz was doing as well as could be expected, too. All of that meant that Sarah only came in once a day to do physical therapy with Liz, working on building her strength back up without putting too much strain on her lungs and heart.

Not surprisingly, Don noticed that Liz wasn't doing as well emotionally. She was withdrawn, morose, and short-tempered. Sure, she was also focused on her PT, clearly wanting to get better, but she was nowhere near herself. Ressler didn't blame her for that in the least. He wished he could encourage her to tell him what was on her mind, though. All she would say when he asked was that it wasn't something he could help with.

She was well enough to see her therapist by the end of the week, which was good. He tried not to be jealous that she might be telling the doctor more than she was telling him. At least he himself seemed to be doing well, based on what Dr. Wong said when he went to see his own therapist.

Things finally became clearer – and came to a boiling point – at the end of that week, when Reddington came over for a visit. He had an update on the search for Alexander Kirk. There wasn't much in the way of encouraging news, though. The only progress either his people or the task force had made was to discover some places where the man was _not_ currently staying.

“I'm sorry, Lizzie,” said the man, sighing and shaking his head. “Kirk is notorious for how secretive he is. That's not a good excuse for how little we've found, but I promise we'll keep looking.”

Liz just nodded, staring at the floor. Her hands were clasped together in her lap, and Don could see the tension in her shoulders.

“How are you doing?” Reddington asked then, after a pause. “I'm glad to see the progress you're making, at least.”

“I'm all right,” she said, in a clipped tone. “Look, Reddington, I need to know if you can even give me an estimate of how long it'll take to find Kirk.”

Red had raised his eyebrows at her tone, but just said, “I'm afraid it wouldn't be a very accurate one if I tried at this point. Perhaps in a few days--”

“A few days.” Liz gave a sharp laugh, and shook her head. “So in the meantime Ressler and I, what? Just have to stay here, practically prisoners under constant watch from your guards, while you try to find a single useful clue about the man who wants me? And you won't even tell me what he wants with me, either, I'm guessing.”

So that was it. She had cabin fever – and she also had a couple of good points. Don reached out his hand to take hers. She didn't pull away, at least.

A muscle in Reddington's face twitched. “I can't tell you for certain what his motivations are,” he said, “but I do know he believes your identity as the daughter of Katarina Rostova makes you valuable to him.”

“But he's not involved in the Cabal.”

“No.”

Liz stared, and then scoffed. “And that's it. That's all you're going to give me.”

“My apologies, Elizabeth,” he said. “I know you and Donald have been shut up inside for quite a long time now – at the safehouse and then here. But Kirk is relentless. He won't stop until he has you, and although I remain confident he wants you alive, we've already seen that he's willing to risk your safety to get you.”

Ressler gripped her hand tighter for a moment before he made himself relax. He was frustrated by being stuck here, too, but he was also very willing to be the one who looked after Liz while she recovered. And the idea of facing another attack, especially while she was still so vulnerable...

“There is another option, however,” Reddington went on, before Liz could voice another protest. “With some preparation, we could move both of you to an undisclosed location out of anyone's reach. This would keep you safe while we continue to search for Kirk, and also allow you to live more freely.”

Liz looked up at that. She seemed intrigued. “I'm listening.”

“As I said, it would take some time to arrange,” said Red, “although getting things moving could happen quickly. But if this is truly what you both want, you need to be prepared for a situation not unlike your government's witness protection program, temporarily at least. No contact with anyone among your friends here, no paper trail, false identities, the lot.”

Don frowned and considered. This option was drastic, but it made some sense, too. “Can we talk this over and get back to you?” he asked, and glanced at Liz again. Her brow furrowed but she didn't object.

“Of course,” Red replied. “I'll leave you to it. Call me with your answer, anytime.”

After the criminal had left, Don turned to Liz. “You could have told me that's what was bothering you, Liz,” he said, but without making it an accusation. “It's not like I wouldn't have understood.”

Liz leaned back against the couch. “I know,” she said. “But you've been so conscientious about taking care of me. I didn't want you to think I wasn't being appreciative – although I guess I haven't exactly been saying a lot of thank yous, either.”

He scoffed gently. “I guess if you'd been cursing me out all the time, that might have upset me, but otherwise I've got a thicker skin than that.”

She smiled a little, and then shut her eyes. “We do need to talk about what Reddington suggested,” she said, yawning, “but maybe we could do that in a bit. I'm already tired again, somehow.”

“Not exactly a mystery,” said Ressler, standing up. She was still healing, still recuperating. He took the throw blanket off the back of the couch and covered her with it. “Get some more rest. We'll talk when you wake up.”

“Thanks,” she mumbled, already half asleep. Then she forced her eyes open and found his gaze. “And Ressler – thank you.”

He smiled. “You're welcome, Liz. Now sleep.”

“Yes, sir,” she replied, rolling her eyes even as she closed them.

~  
Reddington assured them their getaway package would be ready within twenty-four hours, after they discussed it together and decided this was what they wanted. Ressler's only stipulation had been that Cooper be informed that they were going to be gone for a while – obviously not any location details, since the assistant director wouldn't want to know that, but Don didn't want to just disappear without any of their colleagues knowing anything at all. Liz was in agreement.

Reddington had been unsurprised by this proviso, and had promised Cooper would be informed. “But only after you two have already left,” he said. “I don't want any bureaucratic interference.”

“From Cooper?” Ressler said, skeptical.

“I'm perfectly confident that Harold will grasp the necessities of our situation, Donald,” was Reddington's response. “But the rest of the Bureau does tend to get bogged down in proper procedure, approvals, and other irritating things.”

That evening, just ten hours before Don and Liz were scheduled to leave for their temporary hideaway, one of Reddington's guards that was on duty brought Liz her mail as had become routine. (She grumbled about this, insisting that it was ridiculous to have someone bring the mail from the mailboxes on the main floor of _the same building_ rather than allowing either her or Ressler to get it, but it continued.)

Don was finishing up packing his one suitcase while Liz went through her mail. Then she stopped and said, “Huh.”

“What is it?” Don looked over at the couch.

Liz was holding up something that looked like a bill. She turned it around so he could see the other piece of mail that seemed to be stuck to the back. “That's … weird.”

“Yeah. Do you think it was on purpose, not just a random thing?” He came over and sat down next to her.

“I don't know,” said Liz. She pulled at it carefully, and it came away without doing any damage to either envelope. “There's no return address, though.”

Ressler bit his lip. Something about this felt off. “Can I see it for a second, before you open it?”

“Sure.” She passed it to him.

Trying not to feel self-conscious, Don brought the envelope, with Liz's address neatly typed on the front, up to his nose so he could inhale deeply. At first, he only smelled adhesive, ink, and traces of Liz. But when he sniffed it again, he let out a startled sound and said, “My God.”

“What? What did you get from it?”

“It-- I got a little bit of the same scent that I got from Reddington's death threat painting.” He stared at the letter. “Liz, I think this is from Alexander Kirk.”

“Oh my God,” Liz breathed. She took it out of his hands, with even more care than she had used separating it from the other piece of mail. “I guess this is confirmation that he knows where I live – as if we needed it to be confirmed.”

Ressler fought back an urge to pull it out of her hands and burn it. That was probably an overreaction. “Get rid of it.”

“What?” Liz turned to him in surprise. “Why? It's just a letter. I at least want to read it first.”

He clenched his fists, returning her confused look with one of his own. “Why would you even want to read something from the psycho who hired people to kidnap you?”

She shrugged and looked away. “Red refuses to tell me the whole story with Kirk,” she said after a pause. “But it has to have something to do with my parents – or at least that's what he implied.”

“Ah.” Don sighed. Of course he understood her frustration with Reddington's continued vague half-answers, and all the ways he blatantly withheld information. For Liz, it had to be a hundred times more infuriating, since it had to do with her past. Still... “Are you sure it's safe to open, though?”

“Ressler, It's not like he's going to put anthrax in it,” Liz pointed out, one eyebrow raised. “Like Reddington says, he doesn't want to kill me. And how else is a piece of paper going to be unsafe?”

Ressler imagined what would happen, if this letter was in fact from Kirk, and included a few tantalizing bits of information about Liz's past. He rubbed a hand over his face. He could see a whole lot of ways it could be dangerous – but he was pretty sure Liz wasn't going to listen to him if he brought them up. She'd hate the idea of telling Reddington about it first, too. For the very understandable reason that Reddington would tell her not to open it and that he'd have his people take it and destroy it, most likely. “Fine,” he said. “But just … humor me and be careful, would you?”

“Uh huh.” She didn't bother hiding that she was only doing it to humor him, when she carried the letter to the table and got a knife to open it. She stood back as far as possible while doing so, as well. But there was, of course, no puff of white powder or anything at all dramatic when she shook the letter with care onto the table's surface. It was just a folded piece of white printer paper. Liz looked over at him. “Do I have your approval to open it now?” she asked, with more than a hint of sarcasm.

Don scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Look, I get it,” he snapped. “You think I'm being overprotective again. I'm sorry. Just open the damn thing already!”

She glared at him, but only for a second before she picked up the letter and unfolded it. Then she read, her eyes widening almost immediately.

In the minute or so it took her to read it, Don could see a variety of emotions pass over her face. And now she looked upset. She took a slow, shuddering breath, and then wordlessly handed the letter to him.

It took no time at all for him to see why this letter had upset her. It was short, but pointed:

_My dear Masha,_

_By now you have no doubt heard numerous lies from Raymond Reddington about your parentage and your past – or perhaps he's just hidden it all from you, in an attempt to keep you dependent on him. Perhaps he has even convinced you that his interest in you is for your benefit. Let me assure you, this is false._

_It's true that Raymond Reddington has had a long, sordid association with you and your mother, Masha. But he's not looking out for you. He's a spiteful, evil man, who stole you from Katarina and me. Yes, my dear, I'm your father. You see, before I was Alexander Kirk, I was Konstantin Rostov. I've been looking for you for a long time._

_I know you have many questions. I know also that you have good reason to be suspicious of me, after the disaster that was my previous attempt to reach you. Furthermore, my people tell me it would take a tremendous amount of firepower to reach you where you are now, and I don't wish to risk further injury to you if there is another way._

_If you want to come and talk to me, you have only to find your way out of that place where Reddington has you under lock and key. I promise you will be safe and unharmed._

It was unsigned. Ressler's mind whirled. He looked over at Liz, who was pacing back and forth in front of the couch. “Liz, we don't know that he's telling the truth,” he started.

“Of course we don't!” she shot back. She was rubbing her right hand with her left. “But it's-- it's possible. Possible that some of it is the truth, anyway.”

“Your mother's identity was all over the news, not too long ago,” he reminded her. “And this guy has lots of connections. Reddington's told us or implied that much already. So it's also very possible he's just using something he knows you'd have a hard time ignoring to draw you out.”

She glared at him, but then sighed and looked at the letter again. “You're right,” she said heavily. She went back to the table and sat down, picking up the empty envelope and turning it over in her hands.

Don came over to stand behind her. He set the letter down and rested his hands on her shoulders. “I'm sorry there's yet another person in your life now who's trying to manipulate you,” he said softly. When he thought about it, it had the potential to make him furious. Reddington, Tom, Connolly, and now Kirk – they all tried to manipulate Liz, some more than others, and some in a much more damaging way than others. And using this tactic, pulling at her deepest longings for knowledge about who she was... Ressler's jaw tightened. Whether or not Kirk's letter had any seed of truth in it, it was clear the man was devious and had very few scruples in his desire to get to Liz. The son of a bitch hadn't even really apologized for almost killing her.

Liz reached up and covered one of his hands with hers. Then she stared off into space, across the table. “I don't even know how...”

“How what?” he prompted, when she trailed off.

“How we would get out of the building without Reddington's people noticing.”

Don stepped away, stifling his immediate reaction to that, and then sat down in the chair across from her. “That sounds like you're actually considering this,” he said. His tone was flat.

She gave him a helpless look. “I can't just ignore it, Ressler. He could have answers.”

He shoved the chair away from the table again, trying not to give in to anger as he stood up. “Liz, the man hired a bunch of thugs who fired a _rocket launcher_ at you,” he said. “That caused a brain injury, and then a blood clot in your lungs, both of which could have killed you easily. And now you want to purposefully try to go find him?!”

Putting her head in her hands, Liz said, “Part of me does, yes. The other part of me recognizes that that's insane. But nothing I do seems to convince Reddington to actually tell me the things I want to know – and Kirk, whoever he is, is just offering that information.” She looked up then, and desperation crept into her voice. “Even if I told Red about this, and demanded some answers, he would only give me the bare minimum. You know I'm right!”

He nodded, slowly. “Yeah.” Then he walked back around to her side of the table, and reached for her hand again. “Look, I'm not going to try to tell you what to do,” he said. “I know you need answers about your family and your past. I just don't want you to end up getting hurt again. And I don't see a way for you to do this that won't end that way. Kirk will grab you as soon as you stick your neck out. He might or might not keep his promise about you staying unharmed – this time. But whatever he wants you for, whether he's your father or not, he's shown no evidence of really caring about you as a person. That scares me.”

Liz licked her lips. “I haven't forgotten that he hurt you, too, when you were caught in the explosion,” she said. She stood up, as well, and wrapped her arms around him. He was only too happy to hold her as tightly as he could without causing her any pain.

After a few moments, the two of them separated. Liz heaved a sigh. “I'll try my luck asking Reddington what this means tomorrow morning, on the way out of here,” she said.

Don tried not to let his relief show too obviously. “Okay,” he replied. “You know I'll back you up.”

“I do.” She smiled at him, and if it wasn't the happiest smile he'd ever seen on her face, it was genuine.

~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yep, another really long break between chapters. My apologies. It turned out I needed some inspiration from the beginning of season 4 to keep this moving. Thanks again to all who have stuck with the story so far! I can promise it won't be three months between updates for a while, at least (provided season 4 continues well).


	13. Chapter 13

~~

Liz rolled over again, keeping herself from sighing or groaning with effort. She didn't need to wake Don with her tossing and turning. Apparently, just because she had decided not to try to sneak out to meet up with Kirk didn't mean her mind was going to relax and let her sleep. Of course. And the fact that she and Don were leaving early the next morning didn't help.

Finally, a few minutes later, Liz gave up and slipped out from under the covers. She was just about to stand up off the bed when Don stirred next to her. Of course – it wasn't easy to be quiet enough for his extra-sensitive ears not to hear.

“Hey,” he said, cracking open an eye. “'S going on?”

“Just getting a drink of water,” she told him. “Go back to sleep.”

Don stared at her blearily, then shut his eyes and yawned. “'Kay.”

Liz watched him for a moment, smiling a little at the sight of him. Then she bent down to pull on her slippers before going out to the kitchen.

On the way there, Liz stopped, drawn by the sight of the envelope and letter on the table. She bit her lip. She was sure – almost one hundred percent sure – that she was making the right decision by not taking Kirk up on his offer. And yet...

When she reached out and picked up the envelope again, Liz was startled to hear a tiny rustle from inside. She shook it. Yes, that was the sound of a very small piece of paper moving around in there. How had they not noticed it before?

Her heart started to beat faster as she fished the little scrap of paper out. It was about the size of a business card, but made of lighter-weight stock. In the dim light, Liz saw it had only three words on it: “My personal line.” Then there was a cell phone number.

“Oh my God,” she whispered. This was huge. Whoever this man was, he was giving her something that could put him at great risk. If this really was his personal line, she would just have to have Aram or one of Red's people trace it, and then they would have his location.

Or... And this was what Kirk had to be banking on. Or she could keep this paper to herself, and call him at some point when it wouldn't put countless other lives at risk. She could do so safely, in a way that meant her location wouldn't be easy to trace, and then she could at least hear him try to give her enough proof that she could decide whether she believed him.

Quelling the guilt that she could feel trying to make itself known, Liz put the piece of paper in an inner pocket of the coat she was planning to wear tomorrow. Just because she was keeping it didn't mean she would necessarily do anything in particular with it. She just wanted the option, she told herself. There was no need to tell Don or Red right away.

~  
Liz could see Ressler getting less tense, the further they got from the apartment. She knew he'd been waiting with bated breath, sure that Kirk would strike again before they got out. But now they were well away, getting closer to the airfield where Reddington's jet was waiting. It seemed like they might have escaped another attack.

Liz thought of the little paper in her jacket pocket, and resisted the urge to slip her hand in and touch it. She let out a breath.

Red had reacted fairly predictably, when she and Ressler showed him Kirk's letter earlier that morning. That one particular muscle in his face had twitched, and he had looked at her gravely. “You should have told me about this right after you saw it, Lizzie,” he said. But before she could protest, he'd added, “But thank you for trusting me enough to show me now.”

“I showed it to you so you could answer his accusations,” Liz had returned, though not with as much heat as she had been expecting to need. His thanks had disarmed her – at first. “I know we need to leave pretty much right now, but you have time to give me something.”

Red gave a wry smile. “I would have thought Kirk's actions spoke for themselves, as to his identity. He's not your father, Lizzie.” Then he had paused, and added, “But he is Konstantin Rostov.”

“Okay.” Liz had waited with an expectant look after that. But just as she had feared the previous night, Reddington insisted there wasn't time for further discussion at that moment. She scoffed and stood up. Ressler stood up with her, but stayed quiet as she glared and said, “How did I know you were going to say that?”

“This isn't me dismissing your question,” he replied, standing as well. “This is me telling you that Kirk will do nothing but lie to you, mixing in the smallest fragments of truth to lure you to him. The fact that he has reached out to you personally in this way is worrisome. Getting you out of here has just become even more urgent.”

“Will you at least tell me one thing, then? Why, if he's not my father, is he expending so much effort to get to me?” Liz pushed.

Red had sighed. “He believes he's your father, and he believes you have something he needs. Now, will you please consent to come with us? Time is not on our side, and Kirk has proven he doesn't particularly care about collateral damage in his quest to get his hands on you – as he even admits in this ridiculous letter.”

It was impossible to deny the truth of that statement. And that was why she and Ressler were in the back of one of Reddington's vehicles, moving through the nearly-empty early morning streets, once again trying to escape from Alexander Kirk. Konstantin Rostov. The man who believed himself to be her biological father. Again, she resisted the urge to reach for the piece of paper with his phone number on it.

There would be time for that later, if she decided to make use of it.

~~  
The flight wasn't long – which, frankly, relieved Don. He was all for getting Liz to safety, but knowing what he knew about Kirk (admittedly not much, but some), it didn't make much sense to go all that far. The man had a long reach. More important than distance were all the precautions they were taking to keep this trip under the radar.

They ended up in a farmhouse outside of Hartford. It was definitely in the country, though not so much that there was nothing around. The place itself was small but not cramped, and nice enough.

“Make yourselves at home,” said Reddington, gesturing around the front room. “I'm afraid it's bound to be a bit dull for you, for a while, keeping off the internet and all, but you won't be under lock and key, either.”

Liz blew out a breath. “That part will be an improvement.”

“I'm assuming there will still be guards around?” Ressler said, meeting Red's gaze.

“Yes,” the man replied. “They'll be based next door. But they will do their best to stay in the background, unless you need them closer than that. Oh, and that reminds me...” He paused, and looked at Dembe behind him. “You'll both be needing new phones for the duration of this little hideaway.”

Dembe pulled out two of the kind of cheap cell phones that were usually used as burner phones from his jacket pockets. “The man in charge of your security is programmed in already,” he said as he handed them to Don and Liz. “Also a number to reach me.”

“Thank you, Dembe,” said Liz, giving him a smile.

Dembe returned the smile. He nodded to Don. “We will be close by if you need us.”

“Thanks.”

It didn't take too long for them to unpack and start to settle in, with the small amount of personal belongings they had brought with them. And it was nice to have a peaceful lunch with just Liz there, and no worries about Kirk breathing down their necks. Still, Don wasn't sure how long that sense of peace would last – or whether it would, in fact, be replaced by boredom and tension.

As it turned out, there wasn't much time for boredom to set in.

The morning that would have been their third day in the house, Don woke up from an unpleasant dream and rolled over, only to see that the other half of the bed next to him was empty. The sheets weren't even warm, when he reached out to touch where she had been.

Don blinked. It was rare that Liz got up without waking him up, too. He rolled back over and checked the time on his little burner phone. Almost seven thirty. “Liz?” he called, sitting up. “Liz, are you all right?”

There was no response. Don listened, and didn't hear anything at all from her. If she'd been in the bathroom, he would have been able to hear some faint sounds, at least. But that didn't mean he had to freak out, he told himself. She could still be elsewhere in the house. In fact, there was no reason at all to jump to any conclusions here … was there?

Ressler got up and hurried into the hall. “Liz?”

But there was no sign of her, anywhere in the house. Don's heart started to race. He hurried out onto the front porch. Their car was still in the driveway, and there were no signs of anyone else around, either. His nose brought him no real clues, either. Sure, he picked up her scent, but that was everywhere in the house and at the front door. None of it stood out to him.

“Okay,” Don said to himself, going back inside and trying to breathe normally. “Okay. What's next?” Other than not panicking, he also needed to act logically here. First things first.

He went back into their room and got his phone, calling her number as soon as possible. It rang and rang, but no one answered it. Gripping the phone tightly, Don felt his fear increase. This was... He couldn't think of any explanation for this that wasn't bad. With some difficulty as his hands were shaking now, he found the number Dembe had said was for the guy in charge of their security. At the same time, he went back out of the bedroom, trying again to see if he could track her at all.

By the time Reddington arrived (on the heels of his security team) just a few minutes later, Don had picked up Liz's trail, and followed it to one corner of the side yard, right against the fence. That was where it just – ended. If she had gotten into a vehicle on the street on the other side of the fence, or been forced into it, there should have still been some trace that he could detect. But there wasn't. Still, he stood there at that spot, all but frozen, on the faint hope that that might change, that he might catch something that he'd missed somehow.

“Donald.”

He looked up. Reddington met his gaze, standing just a few feet away with Dembe beside him. The criminal looked exhausted, anxious, and also compassionate. “Can you track her, or does her trail go cold?”

Don swallowed. “It goes cold here,” he said. “I should transform, and then check again to be sure. But I'm not sure that would make much of a difference.” His sense of smell in wolf form was better, yes, but he didn't know whether it was a significant enough improvement. He realized then that he was standing out here barefoot and in his pajamas, in front of all these people. (At least today his pajamas included a shirt, which wasn't always true.)

“Well,” said Red with a sigh, “perhaps you should transform anyway, just to eliminate that faint possibility.”

Don nodded. He went back into the house, pausing only briefly at the sight of various members of Red's team searching through the place. He was sure they wouldn't find anything useful. He went into the bedroom, undressed, and transformed. The fact that this was the first time he'd changed fully since Solomon had tried to kill him and Liz was hard to ignore. But he had a job to do.

The first thing he found via his wolf nose was a trace of Liz's scent on the sill of the open window on the side of the house where her trail had ended. That made sense. She had to have left the house via that window. Reddington's team wouldn't be able to see her from their cameras, since their base of operations was the house on the other side of this one.

Ressler left the house, quickly finding the trail again outside the window. The scent was stronger. It was true he could get closer to her scent this way, since it was awkward for a human to bend down close to the ground whereas a wolf had no such trouble. He was aware, as he had been many months ago after he first transformed, that the humans present were observing his progress. But this time, although there was some embarrassment as usual since he didn't really know most of these people, it didn't worry him. These were all his allies. It did seem extra awful that he was in the position of having to track Liz once again, though.

Once he reached the fence, Don found that Liz's scent got fainter as before. But it wasn't quite as total of a drop-off as he'd thought. He was pretty sure he could pick it up again just on the other side. The fence was not very sturdy right here, though. Putting his ears back briefly, Ressler reared up and tested his weight against the top rail of the fence. It gave a fair amount. Still, he didn't want to waste time going out through the gate, so he backed up a few paces.

“Can you detect her trail any better in this form, Donald?” Reddington asked then. He and the rest of his team were gathered nearby, clearly trying not to crowd him.

In answer, Ressler glanced over his shoulder at the man, and then took a running leap over the fence. He cleared it easily. Ignoring the murmurs of some of Reddington's people, Don immediately bent to the task of finding Liz's trail again. There it was.

Not surprisingly, her trail got much fainter once he reached the road. She had gotten into a car. There were no other people's scents there, so it was likely she had gotten in of her own will. That had implications that weren't going to be fun to analyze. He looked ahead, in the direction the car had gone. The narrow, two-lane road stretched onward until it turned and then vanished from sight.

“So she went that direction, then?”

Red had called this out from the other side of the fence. When Don looked up and nodded, he gave a faint smile. “It's a starting point, more than we had before, Donald. Thank you. Now we just need to look at the footage from our cameras and see when any vehicles passed this way, so we know how much of a head start she had.”

At that, Don put his ears back again and whined. He looked away, staring out in the direction that Liz had to have gone, or been taken. If only he had noticed when she got up this morning. If he had, he could have tried to stop her – or at least made note of the time, so they had a better gauge to start with.

“I don't recommend you continue to follow the trail by foot this time,” Red was saying. “The effort is not necessary. We'll follow her by car, until or unless we lose the trail again.”

The man was probably right. Trying not to beat himself up too much, Ressler turned and went back into the house. He decided to use the front gate this time. Reddington's security team would need a few minutes to review their footage, after all.

Once he had come back out of the bedroom, dressed in jeans and a T-shirt now, Red was waiting for him in the living room. “Any further details from what you just discovered outside, now that you're more able to share?”

“It was just her scent, getting into a car,” he reported. He paused, but then went on. “No one else. So that seems to suggest she went willingly.”

Reddington sighed again. “Yes, it does.”

“I should've noticed when she got up,” Don burst out, starting to pace back and forth in front of the couch. “Then I could have stopped this. Whatever it was that happened.”

“And what is your theory as to what happened?” The question was asked in a mild tone, but Red's gaze was focused.

Ressler made himself relax his shoulders and jaw. “I think maybe Kirk made contact again somehow. Or Liz made contact with him. I don't know.” He stopped pacing and rubbed a hand across his face, remembering how shaken-up and conflicted she had been, after the letter. Even though he could try to understand her mindset, it still hurt to think about her doing this, going with Kirk. “But I know she was thinking about it.”

“Yes.” Reddington's face grew shuttered. “You may be right, Donald. In which case there are two important questions to consider: how did he make contact, and then as we mentioned before, how long has it been since he took her?”

His guilt increased as he shook his head. “I don't know when she got out of bed,” he said, staring at the ground. “What about your security team? Have they looked at the tapes yet?”

Red nodded and told him, “They've just informed me that two vehicles have driven past the house on that particular road this morning: one at four-thirty, and one at just after six. The earlier one definitely didn't stop.”

“So when I didn't wake up, that meant I made sure she had about an hour and a half head start.” Ressler moved toward the hallway to go back into the bedroom. “We need to get after her ASAP. And we need to call Aram, to see if he can track her phone.” Part of him wanted to transform again and resume the hunt right away, without the bother of waiting for anyone else. But going by car would, in fact, be faster in the long run.

Reddington's voice stopped him. “Donald, a moment.”

He turned around. “What?”

“This is not your fault.” Reddington stepped closer, and laid a hand on his shoulder. “Based on the evidence we have, the blame for this falls on Kirk. If that's so, Elizabeth shares a small portion of blame, as well, but only inasmuch as she allowed herself to be manipulated by a very clever, dangerous man in possession of something she believed she wanted.”

“Something that you wouldn't give her,” Don reminded him, though with less force than he might have.

“I bear my share of the guilt, as well,” he agreed heavily. “But rather than hashing all that out again, Donald, let's channel our worry and our efforts into finding her.”

That, he definitely agreed with. He gave a nod and then hurried down the hall to finish getting ready. Every second they delayed from now on was another second that Kirk could take Liz farther away from them. And God only knew what it was he wanted from her – since Reddington wasn't telling.

~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to Mack for the beta. Any remaining mistakes or plotholes are all down to me.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See, it hasn't even been a month between chapters this time! That's a positive sign, right?
> 
> Thanks to all who are continuing to read.

~~  
Liz was pretty sure she had made a mistake by the time she climbed out of the house through the side window. Here she was, waiting for a man who claimed to be her father to send a car to pick her up from her safe house so she could meet with him. She had no guarantees he really cared about her as a person. Almost all the evidence suggested he didn't, in fact. But there was no backing out now; once Kirk (or his people, rather – he had told her that much) arrived, any attempt to rescind her offer would put Ressler as well as Reddington's people in danger. She wasn't about to do that.

She paused right outside the house for a moment. Her hearing was nowhere near as good as Ressler's, of course, but she didn't hear him stirring inside. That was good. At this point, if he woke up, he would be in peril. He would try to convince her not to do this, and then when Kirk's people arrived, there would be conflict. At least she could avoid that, if she was careful.

Sighing, she made her way quietly to the fence at the edge of the side yard, leaning on it. She shivered. It was chilly at this hour of the morning.

By the time the car became visible, Liz had had more than enough time to regret her choice. She hadn't stopped wanting to hear what Kirk might be able to tell her about her past. Nor had she stopped being certain that Red would never tell her. Plus, this way Kirk would no longer put the people she loved in danger. He would get what he wanted, without anyone getting hurt. But despite the truth of those things, this … this would still hurt Ressler, and Red, and the rest of the task force, too. With that weighing on her mind, she resolved to find some way of at least making it easier for them to find her.

That wasn't going to be easy to do, though, she found quickly, when the car arrived. Kirk called again at that moment, confirming that these were his men. “They'll ask you to give them this phone when I'm finished talking to you, Masha,” said Kirk, “and I must ask you to follow their instructions. We can't take the chance that Reddington will use it to track you.”

At this point, Liz pretty much had to assent. She'd have to come up with something else to help her partner and her friends find her. Assuming they even wanted to, after this betrayal. She watched in something like despair as the guy sitting in the front seat took the battery out of her phone and dropped the pieces into a plastic bag.

Kirk's car drove in what Liz judged to be a northwesterly direction for about an hour. Then she was ushered toward a waiting jet in the middle of a field. “Where are we going?” she asked one of the men, as they got out of the car.

He didn't reply at first, but then seemed to make up his mind as they reached the jet's stairs. “We're meeting Mr. Kirk in Nova Scotia.”

That was not at all what she'd been expecting. It was a lot further away, for one thing. Plus, she still hadn't found any way to make tracking her down easier for Ressler – except doing her best to leave her scent in this car (without being obvious or weird about it). But that would only be helpful if Ressler even found the car, first. At least it looked like the car was staying nearby the airfield, she saw as she looked down at the ground receding beneath her.

They flew for something like six hours, apparently crossing into Canadian airspace with no trouble. Then they drove for another hour after that. By then, Liz was exhausted but unwilling to let it show. So when none of Kirk's men made any move to take her by force, she marched up the front walk of this beautiful, elegant house that was evidently their destination by herself.

Her first look at Alexander Kirk came as soon as she opened the front door. He was waiting right inside, and his smile when he saw her certainly seemed genuine. “Masha,” he said, and let out a breath. His blue eyes were focused on her face. “Thank you for coming.”

“I'm still not sure I should have,” she said, trying to regulate her own breathing. His appearance hadn't sparked any memories – not yet, anyway. “And my name is Elizabeth.”

His smile faded, but he just nodded. “That's fair,” he said. “You need proof of who I am. I'll give you that.”

Liz licked her lips, glancing around. Kirk's face might not be familiar, but this house... “What is this place?”

“Take a look around, wherever you like,” he said immediately. “Perhaps it will help you remember. This place used to be very dear to you – and to me, as well. Then when you're finished, come find me if you want to talk.”

At that, Liz's eyebrows rose. But Kirk had just told her to feel free to explore, so she shrugged and started to do just that.

The feeling that Kirk was telling the truth, that this place had once meant something to her, grew as she explored. From inside, the grounds looked strangely familiar, in that way that places you haven't been since you were a child are both the same and different when you come back. She would take a closer look out there later. First, she wanted to explore the house's interior.

It didn't take her long to find the upstairs room full of almost everything a little girl could want. There was a dollhouse, plenty of dolls and books, and a number of stuffed animals. There were even several hand-drawn or painted pictures lying on a child-sized table in the middle of the room. Pictures she had to have made. Pictures of her, holding hands with her father and mother. Liz swallowed, picking one up to look at it more carefully. The girl in the pictures was happy. Safe. Loved.

That fierce longing, to know more about her mother especially but also her father, rose up to choke her again as she stared at her own handiwork. She felt tears building at the corners of her eyes. But then she shook her head and set down the painting. She had to try to keep a clear head. She had to think. Things here couldn't be quite as simple as they seemed, could they? For one thing, if these were in fact her drawings, and this was in fact a childhood home of hers, then how was this room so perfectly preserved for over two decades? That didn't make sense. Which meant at very least that it had to have been arranged ahead of time for her benefit … or to trick her, for some reason.

Liz shook her head again. She couldn't fathom why anyone would go to this much effort to trick her. But that didn't mean it couldn't happen.

Sighing, she walked over to the window and pulled the lacy white curtain aside. The view was gorgeous. Even with the light fading outside, she could see much of the grounds from up here. And then...

And then she experienced what had to be a memory, almost vivid enough to be a flashback. Her mother. She could see her mother working in the garden out in the front yard. Her heart leaped. She had never been able to bring a clear image of her mom to mind … but now there she was. She was just as beautiful – more so – than Liz had ever imagined.

Slowly, almost as if she were in a dream, Liz withdrew from the window and went back downstairs. No one got in her way or stopped her as she followed the path the little girl version of herself had taken in her memory: outside, to the spot beside the front walk where she and her mother had buried a time capsule of sorts. That is, if this had been a real memory.

But it only took a few seconds of digging at that spot to uncover a coffee can. Liz gasped. It certainly looked to be the right age, and it was right where she remembered (didn't she remember?). And when she opened it, it had all the items she had just seen herself and her mother put inside. Carefully, she took out the bracelet from the can and put it on her own wrist. In the process, of course, she couldn't help seeing her scar.

That brought her up short. Reddington had told her she shot her father, the night of the fire – and she'd thought she remembered that, too. But now Kirk was claiming to be her father, and he was still very much alive. Based on everything she had seen so far, even in this short time, he definitely had reason to think he was her father, at least. Even Red had admitted the man was Konstantin Rostov.

Liz dusted the dirt off her hands and stood up. As usual, she was coming up with a host of new questions along with any answers about her past that she happened to discover. Maybe Kirk could still provide some more answers, though.

He was waiting right inside, once again. “You found your mother's bracelet,” he remarked, smiling. “It suits you.”

Liz nodded once. Then she bit her lip. “I don't understand you,” she said to him, deciding she might as well be blunt. “You act like you care about me, and here we are at this idyllic, beautiful place where I apparently lived as a child – but I can't just forget that you sent a team of storm troopers to try to kidnap me not too long ago. And then when that didn't work, they shot a rocket launcher at us! You hurt my partner, and I-- I almost died!”

As she had been talking, Liz watched the man's expression change. She saw no hint of deceit in the regret and sadness in his face. “I know,” he said, his tone heavy. “There's no excuse I could offer that would make up for that failure. In my desire to get you away from Reddington by any means possible, I almost caused your death. I won't be surprised if you find that unforgivable, Masha. Elizabeth.”

She raised an eyebrow. He called her Elizabeth. That was a concession. On the other hand, he hadn't even included Ressler's injury as part of the thing he was trying to apologize for. “You were trying to get me away from Reddington? Why? And why now?”

“I thought you were gone forever, for so many years,” said Kirk. He took a step toward her, but stopped. “Until I saw you on the news – a fugitive, at Raymond Reddington's side. That's when I started planning a way to get to you. Elizabeth, whatever Reddington has told you, it's all lies. He's been destroying our family ever since he came into contact with your mother.”

Liz swallowed. This was Kirk, all but telling her straight out (as he had in the letter) that Reddington had had an affair with her mother. But Reddington had denied that he himself could be her father, and had said her father was dead. “How do I know _you're_ not lying to me?” she asked. “This house-- I think it's bringing back memories, so I believe that I spent time here as a little girl, but that doesn't make me your daughter.”

“You're right, it doesn't,” said Kirk with a nod. “But I promised you I have proof, and I meant it.”

“Okay.” Liz stopped herself from rubbing her scar. “Can I see it, then?”

He was silent for a few seconds. Then, as a woman Liz didn't recognize from her brief tour of the place came into the room, he said, “I have a … meeting I can't delay any further. But if you'd like to eat some dinner, I'll join you as soon as I can. And then we can discuss the proof you're looking for.”

Sighing, Liz looked between him and the woman. She was faintly surprised and distracted by the dislike she saw on the woman's face for a moment before it vanished. “Fine,” she said, turning back to Kirk. “But I'm going to hold you to that.”

“Of course.” He smiled, and then followed the dark-haired woman out of the room.

Before Liz could consider wandering back to the dining room she'd seen earlier (large, and much fancier than she thought she'd really be comfortable eating in, especially by herself), an older woman appeared from another hallway. She smiled at Liz and said, with a hint of a Russian accent, “A meal has been prepared in the parlor, if you'd like to eat, Miss Keen.”

“Thank you,” Liz replied. She followed the other woman to one of the other rooms she had glanced through earlier. It was also fancy, but had more of a feeling of use than the dining room. There were several covered trays laid out on the coffee table, as well as some coffee and a teapot.

“Help yourself to whatever you'd like,” the woman said, gesturing at the spread.

“Thank you,” repeated Liz. Then, as the woman was turning to leave, she said, “I-- Um, sorry. Do you work for Mr. Kirk?”

The woman nodded. “For many years now. I am his housekeeper.”

“Do you like the job?”

The housekeeper nodded again, without hesitation. “Mr. Kirk is a good man,” she said. “And when he found you, he was so happy. It's been a long time since he last came here, to this house.”

Liz bit her lip. After a pause, the housekeeper smiled again and said, “If you need anything, please ask.” Then she left the room.

She was still deciding where to sit (and honestly, whether to sit at all) when she saw the little leatherbound journal resting on the end table next to the easy chair. Her heart started to pound. She sat down and picked it up. Yes, it was a journal – her mother's journal. She could decipher enough Cyrillic to read the name at the beginning.

Liz had never wished more that she could really read Russian, as she opened it and looked at the neat handwritten lines inside. Despite her lack of comprehension, she traced the words with her fingers, and flipped through several pages. Her mother would have filled these pages with her thoughts, her fears and dreams. Very probably, this journal contained passages about her daughter.

Closing her eyes, Liz raised the little book to her face. She breathed in. Her sense of smell was nowhere near as keen as Ressler's, but beyond the scent of old leather, there was something, a hint of a perfume that took her right back in her memory. Her mother.

“Mama,” she whispered. She thought she could almost remember using that word as a child – almost. Tears pricked at her eyes again.

She set the journal down with care, and then turned her attention to the food. She was hungry. And Kirk had promised to come here and prove who he was to her when he was finished with whatever he was doing right now, so there was no reason not to eat.

~~  
Even with a call to get Aram's help from back at the Post Office, they weren't able to use satellites to track the car Liz had gotten into for very long before there just wasn't anymore surveillance data. But it was enough to confirm the direction she'd gone – and since there weren't many side streets out here in the country, that was still helpful. Aram had said he would be looking for anything in that general direction that could be of interest to Kirk in keeping Liz hidden. Samar was on her way out to Connecticut with an FBI team to join in the search.

“Donald, I hesitate to ask you for something like this again after so little break,” said Reddington, as they regrouped at what had been Liz and Don's house for all of two days, “but do you think you could recognize the scent of the particular car Elizabeth was in – or track her scent while she was in it?”

Don sighed. Part of him wished he had just gone ahead and started to track the car right away in wolf form, if this was how it was going to go. “Yeah, I think so. Maybe either one,” he said. “I can't say for sure, of course, until I check.”

Nodding, Red asked, “Would it be best for you to start from the house, where the scent is clearest, or can my people transport you part of the way that we know she went, first?”

The idea of going some of the way by car was appealing. On the other hand, he wasn't sure he was willing to risk not picking up the scent well enough wherever Reddington's people decided to stop. “I guess I'd better start here,” he said. Then something occurred to him. “But, uh, if I'm going to be transforming again, I should probably have breakfast first. Much as I hate to waste any time right now, it uses up a lot of energy whenever I change.”

If the man was irritated at this delay, he didn't show it. “Very sensible,” he said. “Elizabeth isn't in any immediate danger from Kirk at this point, after all, now that she's on the way to him. And besides, this way we give Agent Navabi and her team more time to catch up to us, which will please her and Harold.” Before Ressler could speak further, Reddington went into the little kitchen. As he walked, he was calling back over his shoulder, “What are you in the mood for, Donald? Something protein-heavy, or are we leaning more toward carbohydrates for that quick burst of energy?”

“What?”

And that was how Special Agent Donald Ressler ended up having the Concierge of Crime cook him breakfast. Reddington ignored all of Don's protests that he didn't need this, that he was perfectly capable of getting his own food, thanks. He also insisted that the agent sit down, “to conserve his energy.” Then, within a few minutes, Reddington had prepared fried eggs, bacon, and even started some pancakes – though he decried the fact that time constraints meant he had to use a mix instead of making them from scratch.

Naturally, it was all delicious. It was also much more satisfying than anything Don would have bothered to make for himself. Reddington ate some, as well, and pressed Dembe to take a plate. He didn't try to engage Don in small talk over the meal, which was a relief. He did, however, launch into a story about some farm he'd visited somewhere in South America, which had had the best eggs he had ever tasted in his life. Ressler would have done his best to tune him out, except the story did make it easier to let himself relax – at least enough to eat.

Once he was finished, Don confirmed with Red that he would be starting from the house, tracking Liz as far as he could from there. Red, in turn, promised that he and his people would follow and make sure no one bothered him. “And I'll leave two of my men here in the house, to liaise with Agent Navabi when she arrives,” he said.

“Good.” He stood up and took a deep breath. He could do this. He'd done it before, with much less presence of mind. And maybe, maybe Liz had had enough presence of mind to try to leave a clearer trail this time … although he wasn't going to get his hopes up on that.

So, a minute later, Ressler once again exited the house as a wolf. He jumped the fence and located Liz's trail again. As expected, the car's scent was not as easy to isolate as Liz's, but he did find it. From there, all he had to do was follow it.

The sun rose as he continued down the road. It probably wasn't going to be a warm day, but Ressler still wished he had asked Reddington to bring some water along for later. He gave himself a mental shrug. They'd figure something out later, if it was necessary.

~  
More than an hour later, Don was getting a little tired. He had been following the scent of Liz's car for this whole time, with only a few breaks to get off the road and out of sight whenever another car drove past. There had been a few times when he'd lost the trail for several seconds. Fortunately, he'd always found it again after some searching.

He was aware that the number of people following him had increased since he started. Some of these were probably FBI. But no one crowded him, or bothered him in any way, in fact.

When he turned off the main road and onto a dirt side street, Ressler wondered suddenly what he was going to do when he got to – wherever he was going. If this wasn't a dead end, he was going to want to be in on the FBI-style investigation and planning, not be stuck as a wolf. But to do that, he would have to have a place to transform, and clothes to put on afterward.

Sighing, he glanced over his shoulder for a moment. There was quite a convoy behind him: several cars, including at least one black FBI SUV, and about half a dozen men on foot, as well. He turned around again. As far as being able to transform back, he supposed he'd just have to cross that bridge when he came to it.

To his mild surprise, a few more minutes of tracking brought him to a chainlink fence around what looked to be a small airfield. The trail ended at a closed gate just wide enough for a car to pass through – obviously not the front entrance to this place. And then his heart sank. If Kirk had put Liz on a plane, their search radius had just widened by a hell of a lot. It might be hard to tell how much, in fact.

Don walked a few paces around the edge of the fence, then sat down with his ears back. He could probably get over the fence if he tried, but not if he wanted to not attract attention in this form. That would just distract from the goal here.

He heard an SUV behind him getting closer. It stopped, and a car door opened. “Ressler,” came Samar's voice.

When he turned around, she was standing next to the vehicle. “Ressler, do you want to come change?” she asked. “There's some of your clothes in here. That way we can both rendezvous with the agents who are already on-site, and see if they've found anything.”

He blinked. That had been thoughtful of whoever brought his clothes. And he hadn't been aware that there were agents here already, but it made sense that an airfield would have turned up on Aram's list of places Kirk might be interested in. Nodding once, he hurried over to the SUV.

“I'll shut the door for you, and I won't look,” said Samar, with just a faint tinge of amusement in her voice.

Don rolled his eyes once, but didn't wait to get into the car. It was a tight fit, while he was in this form. As soon as the doors were closed, he focused and transformed back. It was still a little awkward to get dressed in the cramped space of the SUV, but he managed it quickly enough. His badge and gun were there on the center console. That brought him up short for a moment. He wasn't cleared for field duty yet – but Cooper must have decided to let that slide in this case. He'd have to remember to thank his boss later; obviously Cooper had known there was no way he'd be sitting this one out.

Samar gave him a once-over when he got out of the car. “Well, you don't look quite as put-together as you usually do, but you'll pass,” she said.

“Gee, thanks,” he said with a scoff. “I was going to thank you for bringing this stuff for me, but I guess I won't, now.”

Samar just chuckled and said, “Next time, you can remind Reddington to pack some hair gel for you, too.”

Ressler shot her a look. Did that mean it'd been Reddington who brought this stuff? “Yeah, I'll definitely be sure to do that,” he told her, as they walked toward the airfield.

The agents who had already arrived at the airfield reported no concrete findings so far. Only one aircraft had taken off from this field so far today, according to the records. The staff at the hangars and the air traffic control tower said they hadn't seen anyone matching either Liz's or Kirk's description (not that Kirk would necessarily have been there).

“Something doesn't feel quite right here,” Samar muttered, as they walked away from the main office. “They're not telling us the whole story.”

“Yeah.” They were walking back in the general direction of the SUV Samar had arrived in, when Reddington and Dembe appeared from around the side of the hangar. Don suppressed a sigh that he guessed wasn't fair, after how genuinely helpful Red had been today. “What is it, Reddington? Did your people find something?”

“Possibly,” said the man. “We've found a vehicle that looks similar to the one our security cameras caught leaving your house this morning. Donald, perhaps you could verify.”

Don didn't need any further urging. He went with them to where they had seen the car, parked at the edge of a part of the property that didn't seem to be used often. The grass in the field showed evidence of some kind of craft having landed there recently, though.

As for the car, Don recognized its scent right away, without having any need to transform first (for which he was devoutly thankful). “This is the same one,” he confirmed. When he put on the pair of gloves that Samar handed him and opened the backdoor, he got an even stronger confirmation: Liz's own scent, clear enough that she had to have been deliberately leaving it with him in mind. He swallowed. She wanted to be found, at least. Or she sure seemed to. “Liz was definitely here.”

“Excellent,” said Reddington. “Thank you, Donald.”

“Don't thank me yet,” he replied, taking a glance at Red and then back at the office. “We still don't know where she was going – and these guys lied about there only being one flight that left today, since I highly doubt Liz was on the helicopter that went to Hartford.”

“Yes,” agreed Samar, “and we can't exactly tell them we know they're lying because of Ressler's extra-strong sense of smell, either.”

Reddington gave that deceptively benign smile. “You federal agent types just leave that to me. I'll be happy to pass on what my team and I learn as soon as we learn it.”

“I'm sure,” said Samar wryly. “Meanwhile, we can get all our people off the premises, I suppose.”

Don agreed, even as he found himself reluctant to step away from the car. Liz was safe, he told himself. There was no indication that she'd been harmed, and Reddington didn't think Kirk would harm her, either. That would have to be good enough for now – until they found her.

~


End file.
